


Reciprocity

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Eventual Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fuck Or Die, Fuck or Aziraphale Falls is more accurate, Gabriel is Heaven's greatest tool, Hurt/Comfort, I mean that both figuratively and euphemistically, M/M, Misunderstandings, NSFW Art, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sass as a defense mechanism, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-26 09:10:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: The Archangel Gabriel discovers the Arrangement. He decides to strike up a deal of his own with Crowley - Gabriel can do whatever he wants to the demon, or he'll make Aziraphale Fall.Crowley accepts, because no way is he going to be the reason Aziraphale Falls, and really, Crowley's literally been through Hell, no torture the Archangel could throw at him would possibly come as a surprise.Except maybe this one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it count as a fill for the kink meme if I'm the original prompter?
> 
> I tried to hit a tone that was, at the same time, hot and horrifying and funny. Fingers crossed I managed at least two out of three.
> 
> I feel that I should point out, though, that in no way is this intended to make light of rape. The humour (insomuch as it is) is meant as a coping mechanism.

Crowley jammed his fingers into the small space afforded by the pockets of his ultra-tight jeans, hips rolling as he walked. It was bright and sunny in London, for once, not a cloud in the sky. He was intent on enjoying the sunshine while it lasted; Hell knew that it wasn't going to be around much longer. Crowley had delivered the Antichrist unto the Earth the year prior, so the planet had just over a decade left before everything went bollocks-up.

His wandering feet brought him to Soho. No surprise there. Every demon he knew was chomping at the bit over the upcoming Armageddon, and, given that Crowley very much liked living on Earth, he wasn't particularly interested in listening to them fantasise about the glorious battle while humanity was torn asunder. That only really left Aziraphale to talk to.

Not that he only hung around the angel for lack of a better option. Crowley enjoyed Aziraphale's company, and - though he'd never admit it - he genuinely cared about the angel. Dare he whisper it into the darkest recesses of his own mind, Crowley loved him.

Maybe he _would_ admit it, someday. If the world didn't end first.

Seeing how that was very much an extant possibility, Crowley was just going to pop into the bookshop to see if the angel wanted to take advantage of the weather, and have a completely platonic picnic in the park.

He'd just turned onto Aziraphale's street when the voice addressed him.

I SUMMON THEE, DEMON.

Crowley stopped mid-stride and looked around. It was a reflex; he knew the words had only been in his head, not spoken aloud.

I SUMMON THEE, AGENT OF SATAN.

He scowled. This wasn't Head Office calling - the texture of it was all wrong. No, Crowley suspected that some human that fancied themselves a bit of an occultist had managed to get their hands on a book with a genuine summoning spell. 

It was inconvenient more than anything. It had happened to him a few times over the millennia - less frequently in more recent years, as Aziraphale had quietly made it something of a personal mission to ensure such books were removed from circulation. Crowley would have to let him know he'd missed one.

I SUMMON THEE, SERPENT OF EDEN.

Oh. That was new. Crowley frowned. He'd never been summoned directly before - previously he'd just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and gotten caught in the drag net of whatever idiot had cast the summoning spell. Occupational hazard of being the only demon permanently stationed on Earth.

_Thrice to thine_, he thought absently, feeling himself being pulled unwillingly away.

And it had been such a nice day.

"Satan bless it," he muttered, and vanished.

\--------------

Crowley curled his lip at the dank state of the basement room he was in. No furniture, no decoration excluding the demonic summoning circle beneath his feet, maybe ten feet across, strips of dark metal embedded in the stone floor. The walls were literally oozing - with water, or something else, he couldn't tell. His gaze flicked to the three hooded figures standing opposite the circle and fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Right, you summoned me, well done. What do you want? Make it snappy, I kind of had plans today." They mostly involved an unholy amount of wine and cheese, and lounging in the sun with a certain angel.

The closest figure drew back their hood, revealing an entirely bland man somewhere in his forties, his slightly receding hair the same shade as his unremarkable brown eyes.

What caught Crowley's attention was the golden chain around the man's neck, and more specifically, the tiny gold cross hanging from it. That was not usually a great sign.

Now that he thought about it, there was an odd thrum coming off the ceiling above him, prickling against his skin. His mind was drawn back to a particular night in London, to a gormless angel being threatened by a bunch of idiot Nazis and Crowley feeling like the soles of his feet were being blow-torched.

He was in the basement of a church, he realised with a jolt.

Definitely not a great sign.

"There is nothing we desire from you, demon," the man said calmly, dashing any hope Crowley had that this was just a bunch of previously devout folk that had gone a bit off the rails. A shocking number of the times he'd been summoned had been by people who held faith in God. This was the first time where it looked like one of them might try to exorcise him, though. Crowley surreptitiously glanced between the three figures to see if any of them were carrying anything that could feasibly hold liquid. "We are merely enacting the will of Heaven."

Oh, that couldn't be good.

"Listen, I'm sure you've got the wrong guy," Crowley said, offering his most innocent smile. He was pretty sure it was coming off a tad desperate.

One of the other figures spoke. "Are you not the Serpent of Eden? Tempter of Eve?"

Crowley nodded slowly, grimacing. "I… did do that, yeah, but look what you got out of it! The knowledge of the difference between good and evil, free will, the whole lot, surely you've enjoyed that?"

"Our own thoughts and desires are irrelevant," the first man said.

"That's healthy."

"We received guidance from a heavenly messenger to bring you here," the third figure intoned, her voice startlingly young. "We are merely vessels for divine action." 

The three of them turned in perfect unison. It was creepy, and not the kind of creepy Crowley liked. As one, they headed for the door.

"Don't suppose you got their name?" Crowley called after them. The door slammed shut. "Lovely."

Crowley paced to the edge of the circle. Unsurprisingly, given the obvious effort that would have had to go into setting a metal summoning circle into stone, it was the real deal. He fetched up against the edge of the circle, hands pressed up against an invisible forcefield. It did not escape his notice that he probably looked like a particularly edgy mime. He clicked his fingers, just to be sure, and was again not surprised to find that nothing happened.

He held onto the feeble chance that the 'heavenly messenger' they were talking about was Aziraphale, and that this was the angel's idea of a joke. This didn't really seem like Aziraphale's particular brand of bastardry, though, and in any case, Crowley certainly hadn't done anything in recent memory that warranted something like this. 

Which could only mean that another angel had arranged for him to be summoned here, with his powers bound.

Crowley began frantically pressing up against the barrier surrounding the circle, trying to find some sort of give. There was none.

Which of the angels would even want to have him summoned? Probably someone higher up the food chain, someone with enough clout to convince some humans to summon a demon and get away with it. With a sinking feeling, Crowley realised that probably meant it was an Archangel. 

It wouldn't be Sandalphon, surely, that creepy little bastard would have smote him already. Smited? That didn't seem right. Smitten?

_Focus._

Jophiel was out too, she would have insisted whatever was about to take place occur somewhere a little more tasteful than this dingy basement.

Wait. Heavenly _messenger_. Oh, Satan, it better not be-

"The Archangel Gabriel," Crowley drawled, casually leaning one forearm on the invisible barrier trapping him. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I know you've been attempting to seduce the Principality Aziraphale."

_Well. This isn't off to a great start._ "For all the good it's done me," Crowley replied easily, ignoring the way his pulse immediately began thundering in his ears.

It was okay. He knew what this was about, now, he could spin this. Crowley had been thinking that something like this was bound to happen eventually, had already plotted out how he'd respond to such allegations, whether they came from Heaven or Hell.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, a look of polite disbelief on his face. "Oh? You didn't succeed?"

"He'd hardly still be reporting in to you if he'd Fallen, would he?" 

"So, you don't deny it? That you've been trying to Tempt him?"

Something seemed off. Crowley powered through despite his encroaching sense of trepidation. "What, do you want me to write it out in triplicate and sign on the dotted line? Yes. Obviously, it hasn't _worked_, or I'd be busy taking him on an office tour of the Nine Circles, instead of being here. Mind telling me what exactly your plan _is_, here?" Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't going to like it. Still, better to get it over with and hope that Gabriel didn't discorporate him when it was done.

"_Well_," Gabriel said broadly, spreading his hands as he stepped into the circle. Crowley fought the urge to step back - he knew that while his own powers were bound by the circle, an angel would experience no such restriction. "You've just admitted that you've been plotting direct against a member of the Heavenly Host. As an Archangel, it's my _duty_ to ensure that such a transgression is…" He drew in an unnecessary breath, the sound too smug to really be called a sympathetic wince. "…Punished." Gabriel reached forward, gently removing Crowley's sunglasses and tucking them into his own breast pocket. He regarded the demon's slitted pupils with mild distain.

"On your knees."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, isn't that a bit-" he cut himself off with a startled cry as a sharp pain struck at the backs of his knees. His legs buckled and he found himself entirely involuntarily obeying the Archangel's orders.

"You know what I think?" Gabriel asked, folding his arms behind his back.

"Didn't realise you had the capacity for it," Crowley snarked under his breath.

"_I_ think that Aziraphale knows _exactly_ what you're doing. That he's known for a long time." He began striding in a wide circle, moving behind Crowley's back. Crowley's hands tightened into fists, pressing down against his thighs as he strained to keep himself from twisting around to follow Gabriel's movements. He wouldn't give the Archangel the satisfaction. "I _do_ have to wonder what the other Archangels would say about that. It'd be… disappointing, having to advocate for an angel to Fall. It's been such a long time since the last one, I'd _hate_ to have to break that record."

"I told you, he didn't do anything." Crowley fought to keep the sudden desperation out of his voice. Not that. Anything but that. Crowley knew that Aziraphale would loathe being a demon, and the agony of Falling wasn't something he'd wish on his worst enemy.

Well. Not entirely true. Crowley would definitely find some gratification in watching the ground crumble out from underneath Gabriel, pristine white wings burning their way to black as he tumbled at light speed to the sulphurous pits below. He knew how callous and dismissive Gabriel had been to Aziraphale over the years (although an insidious voice in his head delighted in pointing out that Aziraphale had very likely downplayed just how bad it was), the prick deserved it.

Point being, he didn't want Aziraphale to go through that.

"You're right," Gabriel said amicably, giving him a condescending smile before moving out of Crowley's periphery once more. "He didn't do anything. Didn't raise a hand against you, his demonic adversary. Didn't smite you where you stand."

"So, what, you'll make him Fall because he had mercy?" Crowley sniffed, striving for nonchalance they both knew he didn't feel. "Doesn't seem very angelic of you."

"You're a demon, what would you know about mercy?" Gabriel said dismissively from somewhere behind him. Crowley's neck itched from the desire to turn around. "He's been _indulging_ in the attention you've been giving him, just like he does with everything else on this dumb mudball of a planet."

"He doesn't even notice what I'm doing," Crowley protested, then immediately clamped his lips shut and stared hard at the floor, hearing the forlorn longing in his voice.

Too late. Gabriel's feet stopped a little to his left, and he could feel the Archangel's triumphant smirk prickling against the top of his head.

"…Oh, this is too _good_, really, it is." Crowley cringed at his delighted tone. "You think you have _feelings_ for him, how pathetic."

Crowley ground his teeth, saying nothing as Gabriel laughed and began orbiting him again.

"You have to know that he'd never feel the same way about you." His words sounded so sincere that Crowley would have thought the emotion behind them genuine, if they'd come from anyone other than Gabriel. They still spoke to Crowley's deepest ingrained doubts. They still hurt. "I know, I know, angels have an endless capacity for love, blah blah blah, but that doesn't extend to _demons_." Gabriel sounded insulted by the mere notion. "Y'know, I'm beginning to think having him Fall _would_ be a good punishment for you. It'd be _your_ fault, then, I doubt he'd want anything to do with you after that."

"Don't," Crowley blurted before he could stop himself, condemning words spilling out of him uncontrollably. "Please, don't hurt him. I'll do anything."

Gabriel smiled. "Relax, that soft idiot would probably forgive you anyway, and then where would I be? I can't go giving you exactly what you want." He tilted his head consideringly, gaze raking up and down as he moved out of the demon's line of sight once more. "No, I think I'm going to do something a little different."

"You can do whatever you want to me," Crowley whispered, briefly squeezing his eyes shut, shoulders sagging. "Just promise you won't touch him."

"Don't worry, I know _exactly_ what I'm going to do with you," Gabriel told him, starting up his pacing again. "You see, I'm a big fan of reciprocity. I think that the punishment should fit the crime." He finished his loop around the demon, ending up in front of him at a distance that contravened the etiquette of personal space. Crowley couldn't help but have his attention drawn to the fact that he was currently eye-level with Gabriel's crotch.

Or, perhaps far more significantly, mouth-level with Gabriel's crotch.

He blinked up at the Archangel in sudden, stunned comprehension. "You can't be serious."

Something dangerous gleamed in the otherwise calm lilac of Gabriel's eyes. "Oh, I can assure you, I am."

Crowley couldn't help quirking an eyebrow, regaining some of his usual snark now that Aziraphale was safe, relatively speaking. "So how exactly does you getting a leg over with a demon fit into the Divine Plan? That's just begging for a one-way ticket Downstairs for you, if you ask me."

What was he _doing_? Was he _trying_ to get Gabriel to use a more traditional means of exacting his retribution?

"I didn't ask you." The calm in Gabriel's eyes went ice cold. "You seem to have misunderstood. This isn't going to be a mutual exchange." He smiled nastily. "This is _punishment_."

"Right," Crowley nodded. "My bad, you're going for Wrath, not Lust. 'Course. That tracks."

The Archangel's hand fisted in his forelock, yanking hard. Crowley let out a sound that was more offended than pained, although the hairpulling most definitely did hurt. He didn't bother trying to remove the Archangel's hand, knowing it would be useless, and just scowled up at him instead. His gaze involuntarily flicked down when Gabriel's free hand began undoing his trousers. Crowley could tell he wasn't currently making an Effort, but surely that was about to change, and-

Well. This was hardly fair.

"Did always wonder if your attitude was you compensating for something. Guess it turns out you're just a dick," Crowley muttered, eyeing the obscenely large, fully erect cock now in front of him with no small amount of trepidation. Surely the vanity required to conjure up an Effort that size fell under the purview of Pride? 

Whatever the case, the sooner he started, the sooner this would be done.

Steeling himself, Crowley leant forward, only for Gabriel's hand to bring him up short. "Careful, there, Serpent," he tutted, mock-concerned. "I might get the impression you _want_ this, if you're going to be so eager."

Crowley glared up at him. "What I _want_ is to get this over with," he retorted through clenched teeth. "You gonna let me suck you off or what?"

_Shit._ The way he'd phrased that last part almost did make it sound like he wanted this.

"Get on with it, then, demon," Gabriel ordered, and Crowley sorely wished he could spit venom right now. All that happened instead was that his mouth flooded with saliva.

_Well. That'll come in handy, anyway_, he thought bitterly, wrapping his lips around the head of the Archangel's cock.

"Much better," Gabriel told him approvingly, smirking when Crowley glared. "Can't run your mouth when it's full, can you?"

Crowley hummed in dissent, and also because he was more than a bit of a bastard. A tendon in Gabriel's jaw jumped and he let out a low, rumbling groan, using his grip on Crowley's hair as an anchor point to push his cock in deeper. And deeper.

And deeper.

Gabriel _had_ to be miracling Crowley's throat wider, there was no way it would have fit so readily with so little build-up otherwise. He doubted it was out of any sense of compassion - the Archangel was probably just saving himself the trouble of having to deal with a demon with a ruptured throat. Crowley had sucked his fair share of dicks over the years (just because he'd spent six millennia pathetically pining after Aziraphale didn't mean that he had been chaste the whole time, too), so he knew well the physical limitations of his corporation. What was happening now was far beyond them.

Breathing wasn't a requirement for Crowley, but he'd spent so many years pretending it was that his body didn't seem to know any better. His throat spasmed and he choked desperately as Gabriel pressed further in, deep enough for Crowley's nose to brush against the cashmere sweater covering the Archangel's stomach. Gabriel smirked at his pathetic flailing.

"You're telling me that he's never done this?" Gabriel lifted an incredulous eyebrow. "Never used you for the one thing a demon's good for?"

Sweet Lucifer, had Gabriel done this _before_? The prospect was more than a little concerning. 

Crowley stayed very still, just focusing on getting his body to acknowledge that it didn't need air to function, not entirely sure how this was going to go. Did Gabriel just want him to kneel there, cock in his mouth, as he was insulted? Did he want to force Crowley to give him an enthusiastic blowjob? Was he just going to use Crowley's mouth and be done with it? The unknowns swirled around in his head, circling around the biggest question mark of them all:

If Crowley's performance wasn't up to Gabriel's standards, what would happen to Aziraphale?

Gabriel laughed down at him. "Come on, demon," he murmured, voice low, and Crowley hated the shiver that went down his spine. "Let me show you what a _real_ angel's like."

Crowley, being a snake at least part of the time, could do some very interesting things with his tongue. Gabriel, apparently, wasn't particularly interested in any of them, if the way he very rapidly began to fuck Crowley's mouth was any indication. The demon was barely able to keep his lips sealed and his teeth out of the way, and probably would have manifested proper fangs out of pure instinct if he'd been physically capable of it. He found a sick sense of relief that the circle was currently binding his powers, removing the option. Somehow, he doubted that Gabriel would respond kindly to his John Thomas going the way of John Bobbitt.

Involuntary tears began to sting at his eyes from the ferocity of Gabriel's thrusts, sending him in an awkward backwards knee crawl. Crowley let himself be shuffled backwards, only realising why that was a bad idea when his back hit the barrier at the edge of the circle. The Archangel's other hand rose to Crowley's hair, getting a firm grip on the shoulder-length strands, then started fucking his face in true earnest. Crowley felt like his skull was being crushed against the invisible wall behind him at the peak of every thrust. He didn't reach up and grab at Gabriel's thighs, no matter how much he craved even the slightest sense of stability - he knew exactly the smug, self-satisfied expression that would slide onto the Archangel's face if he did that.

It was brutal, and exacting, and his body was still insisting that it would like some air now, thank you very much. When Gabriel finally relented and pulled out, Crowley all but collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping hoarsely. An ashamed flush spread up from his chest and crept over his collarbones as he realised that he was half-hard in his already too-tight jeans. He forced himself back up onto his knees, trying to ignore it, fighting to get his body under control. This was far from over.

Gabriel observed his struggling with all the professional interest of a scientist studying an uncooperative lab rat. He unwound the scarf from around his neck and shrugged out of his overcoat, dismissing both with a wave of his hand before rolling up the sleeves on his cashmere sweater.

Time to get down to business, then.

"Get up," Gabriel demanded.

"Make me," Crowley replied, voice hoarse.

The Archangel complied all too willingly, seizing Crowley by the hair once more and dragging him upright. Crowley snarled, squirming ineffectually as Gabriel spun him around and slammed him up against the invisible wall at the circle's edge. His other hand brushed Crowley's shoulder, fingers grazing his spine before coming to rest on his bare arse.

Hang on, since when had he been naked? _Shit_. He hadn't even noticed Gabriel miracling his clothes off, how on Earth did he miss that?

Gabriel's ethereally slicked forefinger slid along Crowley's cleft, running in a teasing line over his hole.

Somebody save him, he was really about to get railed by an Archangel.

"Wait," he rasped, mind reeling as it raced to catch up.

"I'm listening," Gabriel said, amused tone indicating that he was going to do nothing of the sort.

Crowley's mouth opened and closed like a particularly dense goldfish. What could he even say? There was no way he could plead with Gabriel to stop; not only would his pride not allow it, he knew Gabriel wouldn't give a flying fig. Not to mention, there was Aziraphale's ongoing happiness and wellbeing to consider.

"Well?"

"Aren't you going to buy me dinner first?" Crowley supplied lamely.

Gabriel shoved a finger into him.

Crowley swore at the sudden intrusion.

It didn't take long for Gabriel to find his prostate, sliding in a second finger as he stroked the sensitive bundle of nerves. He wasn't rough, but he wasn't exactly gentle, either. If anything, it came across as _calculating_ \- Gabriel's movements were controlled and precise, designed to coax Crowley's body into reacting to his ministrations in as efficient a timeframe as possible. The worst part was, it was _working_. His already half-hard cock was stirring with renewed interest, balls drawing tighter as it began to curve upwards.

Stupid physical body with its stupid physical responses. 

"Might as well give in and let yourself enjoy this," Gabriel growled against the shell of Crowley's ear.

_What the fuck?_ Wasn't this supposed to be punishment? What was Gabriel even playing at?

"Might enjoy myself more if you were actually any good at this," Crowley spat, which only earnt him a few particularly vicious pumps of Gabriel's fingers, each striking his prostate dead centre. Crowley grunted, precum beading at the tip of his traitorous cock. Much as he might speak to the contrary, Crowley couldn't help but think that Gabriel had to have done this sort of thing before - the Archangel was, in fact, infuriatingly good at this. More than good enough for Crowley to know that, if he wanted to, the Archangel would be able to make him cum.

Somehow, he got the feeling Gabriel was going to blue-ball him on purpose, instead.

Crowley made a few abortive noises as Gabriel worked him open, trying to put on a front that he was not enjoying any aspect of this, but his body was betraying him. It was impossible to disguise the fact, given how the circle bound his powers, and he'd never felt more powerless. The way Gabriel chuckled behind him made it clear that he could tell.

"See? Isn't that better?"

"Go to Hell." The acerbity of his tone was marred by his obvious arousal.

Gabriel laughed unpleasantly. "Oh, I very much doubt that's on the cards."

The Archangel finally withdrew, but it didn't give Crowley any sense of relief. He knew what was coming next.

A large hand grabbed at his chin, forcing his head to the side, two fingers pushing into his mouth, pressing his face against the barrier. Crowley grimaced at the taste of himself. Not out of any principle of hygiene - he'd only ever used his arsehole for sex, one of the many perks of not requiring a functioning digestive system - but at the unneeded reminder of how thoroughly intrusive this whole situation was.

Speaking of intrusive…

Crowley tensed involuntarily as he felt the slicked head of Gabriel's cock butt up against his entrance. He drew in a shaky breath, knowing he needed to relax, needed to not undo the minimal prep the Archangel had given him. It really hadn't been enough, though, had it? Only two fingers, and Crowley was already intimately familiar with just how thick Gabriel's cock was, his throat still ached from the memory, it was _much _bigger than-

Gabriel teased his rim for a moment or two, then, without warning, shoved himself all the way in.

Crowley screamed. At least, he thought he did. It was a little difficult to tell, what with the way his vision had gone completely blank as his mind shrieked at him that he'd just been torn in half. He was pretty sure he'd lost a few seconds of time. He was definitely sure that Gabriel had performed some sort of miracle on him when he'd unceremoniously sheathed himself in Crowley's arse to keep him from actually splitting in two.

_Of course, couldn't possibly get demon blood on his Holy Rod_, Crowley thought distantly, hysterically, vision fraying at the periphery once more as Gabriel began to pull out in a slow drag.

Halfway through his equally slow push back in, Crowley's knees gave out, instantly dropping the demon several inches. Crowley groaned, and when Gabriel reached around Crowley's front to wrap a hand around his neck, pulling him back against the Archangel's chest, he clutched at the Archangel's arm. Not in an attempt to pull him off, but to give himself some small modicum of support as Gabriel pressed all the way up into him, the Archangel's other hand tightening on Crowley's hip when the demon tried to twist away. Gabriel let out a low, satisfied grunt when he was fully seated once more.

Crowley's toes didn't so much as scrape the floor, which didn't make any sense, he and Gabriel were practically the same height, had that bastard miracled himself _taller_?

Was Crowley drooling? He thought he might be drooling. Hopefully not, that would just be embarrassing.

He needed to say something. Come up with some snappy rejoinder, so that Gabriel would know that he hadn't won yet.

"Gluh," he managed.

_Brilliant. That showed him. Right paragon of wit, me._

Bless it all, he _was_ drooling.

"Not going to thank me, demon?"

"Muh." The contrast between the soft cashmere under his back and the tightening grip Gabriel had on his throat was making his head spin, and, horrifyingly enough, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation.

"Typical." Gabriel pushed Crowley off of his broad chest, letting go of his neck, and the demon spilled forward, his spine apparently having quit its day job. He caught himself against the barrier using only his face, and it took him several seconds to muster the wherewithal to lift his shaky arms to support himself. Even then, his head still drooped, forehead resting against the barrier as his hair stuck damply to his face.

The Archangel's fingers stroked over his hipbone, so tantalisingly close to his cock that Crowley struggled not to move into the touch. He didn't completely manage to smother a disappointed sound when Gabriel moved his hand away.

"If you want it," Gabriel murmured viciously, "You're going to have to _beg_ for it."

"Ngh. Fuck off, Gabe," was Crowley's eloquent reply. Polysyllabic words were still currently beyond him. Seriously, how could anyone argue that the Archangel wasn't being lustful in the way he was treating Crowley right now? It was ludicrous. 

Gabriel's hand slid up Crowley's side, goosebumps trailing in the wake of his fingertips, before coming to rest between Crowley's shoulder blades. Crowley tensed, then Gabriel seemed to press _through_ his back, reaching into the pocket dimension in which his wings resided and yanking them into the physical world. He took hold of one, right near the base, and for a dizzying, sickening moment, Crowley thought he was going to snap the fragile bones there. Instead, he used his grip almost like a rudder, steering Crowley onto his knees with his face pressed to the floor. The cold metal and stone felt like fire against his overheated skin. 

Then, Gabriel took hold of his other wing, and began fucking into him deeper than anyone ever had before.

Crowley's nails scraped desperately against the cold ground, leaving black trails of ichor as they broke, but there was no escape. He couldn't speak anymore, not with the way that Gabriel's cock seemed to be pushing up into the back of his throat (and, given the extent of Gabriel's powers and Crowley's current lack thereof, it was actually physically possible). Crowley quickly abandoned his feeble attempts at escape, knowing they were futile. He got one hand under himself, trying to push his body vaguely upright, but was only able to prop himself up on his other forearm, Gabriel's grip not allowing him to rise any further. Instead, he burrowed his head into the crook of his elbow and focused on his breathing. He didn't need to, of course, but the other option was to have his attention drawn to the way his own aching cock would slap wetly against his thigh every time Gabriel pulled back.

"That- that all you got?" Crowley panted once he'd gathered enough brain cells to talk again, grinning desperately. Any sense of self-preservation he'd ever had had apparently left the building. He wondered whether he might actually be going insane.

Impossibly, Gabriel's pace increased, his grip on Crowley's wings tightening to the point of pain. Crowley was fairly certain he could hear his bones creaking.

_And whose fault is that, you idiot?_

His perception of time grew a little fuzzy around the edges. It could have been hours, or weeks, and he wouldn't have been surprised either way. He thought Gabriel might have started talking again at some point, but if he was, Crowley's brain was refusing to parse the words into something comprehensible. There was only the Archangel's vice-like grip on his wings, the way he was incessantly pounding into Crowley's arse, and Crowley's own neglected cock dripping steadily on the floor.

Finally, mercifully, Gabriel's thrusts became erratic, an invasively deep heat spilling into him. The Archangel let out a guttural, satisfied sound, accompanied by the rustle of feathers as his wings sprang from his back - breathtakingly, devastatingly white. Crowley closed his eyes against the sight, unable to reconcile the proof of Gabriel's enduring divinity with the way the Archangel was still pumping hot cum into him. It seemed to go on longer than it naturally should, and when the Archangel pulled out, Crowley felt more of it splatter over his back, flecking against his wings. A slow trickle began to trace its way out of his abused hole and down his thighs. He shuddered with disgust and humiliation and a hollow emptiness that begged to be filled. He wondered desperately how this, this _claiming_ of Crowley, so far beyond the bounds of what could be considered an honourable punishment, wasn't enough to make Gabriel Fall.

Was it because he was just a demon?

Was it because he was, despite everything, still achingly, shamefully, _obviously_ aroused?

He dragged his gaze up away from the floor. Maddeningly, the Archangel was already looking entirely put together, rolling down the sleeves of his jumper with a disinterested expression.

Noticing the movement, Gabriel's head tilted to the side, the barest hint of a supercilious smirk tugging at his lips. "I've let the Principality Aziraphale know where you are, I imagine he'll be here soon. Wonder what he'll think of the state you're in?" Crowley's eyes went wide with panic, finally realising what the endgame had been, and Gabriel's smile twitched a little wider. "Until next time."

The Archangel disappeared in a dazzling burst of lightning. Crowley stared, blankly horrified, at the now-empty room, not even processing the implication that this would happen again in the face of what was going to happen _now_.

Aziraphale was on his way, and Crowley was still naked. Still hard.

Still stretched open and covered in Gabriel's cum.

"_Fuck._"

\--------------------


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was not my original intent to write more for this fic, but I got to thinking about what would happen in the aftermath of chapter one, and it just sort of got away from me. No art this time, I have to impose some sense of self control.
> 
> I think there will probably be four chapters all up. This chapter is tonally similar to chapter one, if perhaps a little darker. Chapter three is going to rip out your heart, stomp on it a couple times, and laugh the whole time. Chapter four will stomp on it a little more before dusting it off and doing its best to heal the damage.

Crowley hadn't even gotten a chance to get his head on straight, still kneeling on the stone floor, when Aziraphale appeared before him.

"Hey, Aziraphale," he said cheerfully. Putting on a nonchalant front was his only option - anything less, and he'd just break down and start sobbing uncontrollably. He was already enough of a disaster, no need to show the angel exactly how pathetic he truly was. "How's your morning been?"

"It's almost midnight," the angel said distractedly, and that simple statement gave Crowley such an intense wave of cognitive dissonance that his brain flat-out refused to decipher the odd expression on Aziraphale's face. Probably for the best. It would just be barely concealed disgust, anyway.

"Huh," he managed in response.

"Would you like me to… remove this?" Aziraphale made a vague gesture at the drying streaks clinging to Crowley's wings and back, his cheeks flaring pink.

"Yes. Please. If you don't mind. Kind of difficult to carry on a normal conversation otherwise."

Aziraphale looked almost faint, but still clicked his fingers as if on reflex.

All the mess and residual pain vanished, warmth filling him, the familiar weight of Crowley's clothes wrapping around him like a second skin. Crowley was still hard, which, fair enough, it was a bit of a stretch to ask Aziraphale to do anything about that. It didn't stop Crowley's discomfort as he strained against his jeans. For the second time that day, he wished he didn't wear such tight clothing.

He found himself at too much of a loss to say anything, awkwardly folding his arms as he stood.

"Gabriel told me I'd find you here," Aziraphale blurted as the silence became unbearable.

Crowley nodded slowly, having known that much already. "…What exactly did he tell you?" he asked, wary, needing to know how to approach this.

Aziraphale looked away. "He said that you were getting up to no good, and that I'd better attend to it. I just never expected…" He trailed off, at a loss.

Gabriel hadn't told Aziraphale what he'd done. Crowley had been sure that he would lord the fact that he'd gotten to the demon first over Aziraphale's head, he couldn't understand why Gabriel would keep that a secret.

Unless his intention was to force Crowley to be the one to tell him.

Good thing Crowley knew just how to play this game. "Well, it's demons, after all. This is sort of what we do. Temptation of the flesh and what have you."

Aziraphale went very still, the colour of his face slowly returning to normal. "…Demons did this to you?" he asked carefully.

"'Course. They all scarpered when they felt you coming. Who else would it be?" He raised an eyebrow, forcing a smile. "An angel? C'mon, a _lustful_ act like that, we both know that'd just lead to a long walk off a short cloud. Could only get away with that if it was an act of love."

_ You have to know that he'd never feel the same way about you _, the memory of Gabriel's voice whispered like poison in his ear. Crowley told the voice to kindly go and fuck off.

"Oh," Aziraphale said quietly, bottom lip trembling in a way that Crowley knew meant the angel was doing his best to hide genuine anguish. "I'm so sorry, my dear, I didn't-"

"Hey, hey, it's not like I didn't want it," Crowley lied. The last thing he wanted was for Aziraphale to be upset by something that wasn't even true.

"You… did?" Aziraphale didn't seem any less distraught. "Then… why the binding circle?"

"You know us demons, we're a kinky lot," Crowley told him, shrugging. "Little bit of power play, always good fun." He tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to come across as casually unaffected, then immediately regretted it as the fabric was stretched even tighter over his crotch. He was still bound by the circle, after all, and given that he'd never needed to force down an erection the human way before, usually just being able to miracle away any misbehaving genitalia, his hard-on was still going strong. Aziraphale glanced down involuntarily at his words, unable to miss the very obvious bulge, and a delicate rosy dusting crept across his cheeks again. "Speaking of the binding circle," Crowley said, a little desperate to attend to that particular situation, "d'you mind maybe letting me out?"

Aziraphale jolted, flushing harder. "Of course, terribly rude of me to leave you like this, let me-" He concentrated on the outermost ring, eyes narrowing. There was a screech of tearing metal as Aziraphale forcibly ripped the circle open.

Crowley shuddered as he felt his power flow back into him. He willed away his Effort entirely, for expediency's sake, and stepped out the circle, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders. "There, much better," he said, smiling laconically as he folded his wings away. "I know it's late, but there's that sushi place you like that's open until 11, I'm sure they could be convinced to stay open a little longer."

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone," Aziraphale replied, avoiding his gaze. "Besides, you must be tired, far be it from me to keep you from your bed." His face went a little pinker at the unintended double entendre.

"Right," Crowley said, throat sticking at the implicit dismissal. He jammed his hands back into his pockets to keep from throwing himself into Aziraphale's arms like the heroine of some awful harlequin romance novel.

"I'll see you next time you come 'round the shop?" Aziraphale asked, a tentativeness to the edge of his voice that made Crowley question whether the angel wanted Crowley calling on him at all, and was only offering out of politeness.

"Yeah," he replied lamely. Aziraphale gave him a hesitant smile.

"Well, if you're sure you're fine, I'd best be off." He fidgeted anxiously, waiting for Crowley to respond.

Crowley couldn't leave him dangling like that. "All good, angel. Peachy keen."

Aziraphale gave him another polite smile, and vanished.

Crowley closed his eyes. He'd successfully convinced the angel that Crowley hadn't been raped by his boss as punishment for the fact that he and Aziraphale had been fraternising for the past half a dozen millennia. The downside being, now the angel thought he'd been part of a BDSM gangbang with a bunch of other demons in a church basement.

_ Great job, Crowley, you've really outdone yourself on this one. _

There was only one thing he could really do to deal with the turbulent emotions roiling within him - ignore them entirely by sleeping for an as-yet undetermined length of time.

After all, it was one of the few things he was actually good at.

\-----------------

Crowley opened his eyes blearily, wondering what had woken him. He was sure that he hadn't slept for the couple of months that he'd planned to, and the grumpy glance he threw at the digital calendar on his bedside table confirmed that it had barely been a week. Scowling, he flipped back over, feeling the cool silk sheets settle around his bare form once more. He curled around one of his fluffier pillows, resolutely telling himself that he wasn't pretending it was Aziraphale, because that was pathetic, even for him.

He closed his eyes, only for them to shoot open again as a familiar voice rumbled through his head.

I SUMMON THEE, SERPENT OF EDEN.

"Oh, fuck off, _again_?" Crowley shouted at his empty bedroom, and vanished.

\------------------

The basement was depressingly the same. Then again, Crowley hadn't really expected it to be different - if demons weren't creative, then angels were even less so. He'd seen how they all dressed these days, with the cookie-cutter tailored pale suits and the weird hybrid sock-spats over their shoes. There was a complete dearth of originality across almost the entire spectrum of those in Heaven's employ - the exception, of course, being Aziraphale. Sure, his clothes were old-fashioned, and he'd more or less dressed in the same style for going on two centuries, but at least it was _different_.

There weren't any humans this time, just an Archangel giving his naked, supine form an amused once over. Crowley supposed the humans had only stuck around the first time because Gabriel had felt some sort of need to build up the suspense, which wasn't necessary now that Crowley knew the score.

"Hey, Gabriel," he greeted from the floor, propping himself up on his elbows. He wished he'd had the forethought to dress himself before being summoned - the stone and metal beneath him were remarkably cold. Still, it would make things more efficient, which meant it would be over sooner. "Miss me already?"

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. "Judging from the state you're in, I would have thought you were the one that's more eager for this." His lips drew into a thin smile. "Or have I interrupted something?"

"'M embarrassed to admit it, but actually, no, you quite literally caught me napping. More fool me for sleeping _au naturel_, I guess."

The Archangel frowned. "You don't need sleep."

"No, but I like it. Besides, I'm a demon, I'm not much in the business of doing things because I _need_ to."

"Ah. Sloth. Of course."

Crowley smiled mirthlessly. "Sinning's in the job description. Which _does_ beg the question, why are _you_ here? At my last count, you'd ticked off at least three of the seven boxes. I bet I could make a case for two more."

"You'll find no sinning on my part, demon. This is _justice_."

Crowley let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, is _that_ what you're calling it?" He gave the Archangel's crotch a meaningful glance.

Gabriel didn't dignify that with a response. "What did Aziraphale have to say about finding you here, last week?" he asked instead, equally as pointed.

Crowley wrinkled his nose. "Oh, Satan, you _do_ actually call it that, that's just… horrifying."

"Answer the question, Serpent," Gabriel demanded.

The demon sniffed, trying to seem nonchalant. "He didn't have all that much to say about it, really."

Gabriel gave him a sceptical look. "I find that _very_ hard to believe."

"Might've told him that your little punishment gig was actually a demon orgy."

Crowley was gratified to see the Archangel pause at that, taking several seconds to school his face back into faintly incredulous impassivity. "And he… believed you?"

"Why wouldn't he? It's less strange than the truth. If _you_ didn't tell him what actually happened, I sure as Heaven wasn't going to." He snorted. "Really, how d'you suppose I would've told him, anyway? 'Oh, hey, Aziraphale, I was doing such a lousy job at seducing you - oh, and I _have_ been trying to seduce you this whole time, by the way, sorry if you misconstrued the attention I was giving you as actual friendship - that I went and got buggered by your boss instead'?" Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm sure that would've gone down a treat, Gabe."

In a single, smooth motion, Gabriel strode forward, seized Crowley by the throat, hauled him upright, and slammed him up against the barrier at the summoning circle's edge.

"My name," he said, voice deadly calm, "Is the Archangel Gabriel. You will address me as such, you filthy demon."

"Got it," Crowley wheezed as he was lifted off his feet, his wildly flailing arms catching on Gabriel's wrists in a largely ineffectual attempt to give himself enough leverage to breathe. Not that he _needed_ to breathe, not even in order to speak, but the crushing pressure on his windpipe sure wasn't comfortable. "Not a problem, Gabe."

Gabriel's grip tightened. Before he lost the physical capability to do so, Crowley spat in his face.

The demon's head bounced off the stone as Gabriel threw him to the floor. He rolled once, ears ringing, arms an uncoordinated mess as he struggled to gather enough of his wits about him to push himself upright. Gabriel removed the option, grabbing his ankle and yanking him back backwards. Crowley's chin cracked against the stone, palms scraped and knees bloodied. He felt a line of ichor drip down his neck, pooling in the hollow between his collarbones when Gabriel grabbed onto his hair and pulled, forcing his head back.

"How _dare_ you disrespect me like that, you filth," Gabriel snarled, grip tightening, making Crowley's spine bend beyond human limits. "I am a fucking _Archangel._ You are _nothing_."

"I'm a demon," Crowley corrected, voice strained. "There's nothing you can do to me that I haven't seen before."

"Perhaps you're right," Gabriel demurred, his voice suddenly smooth and deadly, like the edge of a honed blade. "Maybe I should be trying this on someone more _docile_."

Crowley froze.

"You forget, demon," Gabriel murmured, leaning in close. "I know your secret. You'd be well served by remembering just _why_ you're being punished. Speaking of which," he added, regarding the ichor smeared down Crowley's chin with distaste, "That definitely won't do for me."

A wave of healing energy crashed over Crowley. It wasn't a peaceful washing away of pain, like when Aziraphale healed him, no soft golden glow. It was harsh, blinding white light, roaring through him with all the brutal force of a tsunami, leaving him feeling like he'd been scoured clean. His skin almost itched with it.

"There," Gabriel told him, hands already moving down to undo his own belt, zipper going down in short order. "That's as close to pure as you're ever going to get."

Crowley was saved from coming up with a pithy reply by Gabriel's cock being shoved down his throat with an almost casual callousness. He was rougher than the first time, the aggression held in his body like he was mad at Crowley for having the audacity to even exist. Crowley tried to use his tongue in what limited capacity he could, hoping that maybe that was what Gabriel wanted, or that at the very least that it would speed things up. It only seemed to make the Archangel angrier. His hand fisted tightly in Crowley's hair, yanking hard enough for Crowley to worry that he was actually pulling some of it out.

"Don't think that your lustful little tricks will work on me, Serpent," sneered at him. "I'm an Archangel. I'm _infallible_."

Which, while entirely unfair, was better than the alternative, Crowley realised with sudden, terrifying clarity - if Gabriel _had_ Fallen for what he'd done to Crowley, he'd become a demon, and demons didn't tend to have many compunctions about trivial little things like rape or torture or murder. No, if Gabriel Fell, things would only get worse for him.

Crowley closed his eyes, feeling a twin set of tears streak down his cheeks, and kept himself very still as he let his mouth be used.

Gabriel fucked his throat for a lot longer than last time. The timing itself was arbitrary, of course; the Archangel was in full control of his powers, his own body would only react in the ways that he allowed it to. Another set of tears fell from Crowley's lashes as he realised that Gabriel could take however long he wanted with this - even if anyone knew to be looking for him, the circle would keep Crowley hidden from any attempts at divination. It would probably take months for Aziraphale to realise he wasn't just off having a sulk but was actually missing, and if Hell discovered he was MIA…

That didn't really bear thinking about. Satan was not kind to deserters. Crowley doubted the fact that he'd been held captive by an Archangel would count for much in his favour. Knowing Hell, they'd probably find a way to make it count against him.

It eventually became evident that Gabriel intended to use Crowley's mouth to bring himself to completion. The knowledge didn't bring Crowley any relief - the Archangel's access to miracles meant that having any form of refractory period was an optional extra that could easily be done without. Gabriel's thrusts grew quicker, and deeper, and soon he was shuddering and groaning and shooting hot spurts of cum over the back of Crowley's tongue. The taste of it was clean, clearly of divine origin, but Crowley had never felt so dirty.

Gabriel's cock was far enough down his throat that it removed his choice to spit or swallow. Not that he thought the Archangel would have let him spit, in any case.

Gabriel held him down until he was done, then shoved the demon off. Crowley grunted, skidding backwards from the force of it, fetching up against the barrier. His thighs and arse burned where they'd scraped along the ground. When he looked up, Gabriel had already miracled himself back to devastating perfection.

"Hands and knees, demon," Gabriel ordered.

Crowley stayed resolutely on his arse. "I'm not a show dog," he snapped. "I'm not going to ask 'how high' when you tell me to jump."

The Archangel's expression grew thunderous. "Do I need to remind you that you have exactly one other option if you choose not to obey me? Do as you're told, vermin." _Wonderful_. He was expanding on his insults. "Hands. And. _Knees_."

Crowley got on his hands and knees.

"Good," Gabriel murmured, mouth curling up at the corner as he made sure that his tone came across like he was praising an obedient pet. He made a swirling motion with his forefinger. "Now, turn around."

Gritting his teeth, Crowley complied. The moment he had his back turned to the Archangel, Crowley's face was slammed into the ground, right near the border of the circle. He grunted in shock at the unexpected pain, a strip of metal scouring a line across his cheekbone and the ridge of his brow. Gabriel's hand stayed wrapped in his hair, holding him down, two slicked fingers already sliding along his cleft into his exposed hole. Crowley sucked in a sharp breath as Gabriel instantly found his prostate and began massaging it. Crowley's cock defied the demon's stern warnings to stay exactly as it was, and grew fully hard in an embarrassingly small number of minutes. Gabriel's fingers worked into him with ruthless efficiency, seeming to know just when to back off in order to maximise Crowley's frustration. Every now and then, Gabriel's hand would disentangle from his hair, trail along the length of his spine, grazing along the inside line of his hip in a teasing promise they both knew he was never going to fulfil. It didn't stop Crowley's stupid, responsive body from lighting up at the touch, spurned desire roaring through him every time Gabriel's hand returned to his hair.

The demon let out an irritated whine. "Y'know, you're an incredibly vindictive sexual partner."

"I've already told you what you need to do if you want any reciprocation," Gabriel growled at him.

"And I've already told you to fuck off," Crowley spat back. "I'm not begging for you. Your ego's big enough as it is." _It's not the only thing_, his useless brain reminded him inanely. _Ha ha, I'm so funny._

"Until you learn a little humility," Gabriel told him, and wasn't _that_ rich, "You're going to have to do without."

"Maybe I should beg," Crowley panted, forcing himself to not press back against Gabriel's fingers. It was a near thing. "Maybe then your big, overinflated head would finally explode, and I'd get some peace."

Gabriel's fingers thrust into Crowley a little harder, pushing his body forward with the force of it, grating his face against the unforgiving floor. "Is that a _threat_, demon?"

"If I say yes, will you shut up?"

"I know what will shut _you_ up," Gabriel snarled, all but ripping his fingers out of Crowley, before lining up his cock and pushing into him with a single harsh movement.

And bless it all, if Gabriel wasn't right - Crowley was rendered entirely incapable of speech. Even having gone through this once before didn't diminish the intensity of being impaled on Gabriel's cock. He was halfway convinced that Gabriel had made his Effort a little bigger than last time, to ensure that Crowley wouldn't be able to get used to it. Tears stung at his eyes again at the thought that this would only end in one of two ways - either he let Aziraphale Fall, or he let Gabriel continue fucking him like this until the Apocalypse. And possibly beyond, if all three of them survived the war and Heaven won.

There was a third, darker option, one that didn't bear thinking about. It was off the table, in any case - even if things really did get that bleak, Crowley knew there was no guarantee that Gabriel wouldn't make Aziraphale Fall anyway in retaliation.

He heard a high, keening moan, and it took him several seconds too long to realise it was coming from him. Release yawned before him like a bottomless chasm, a tempting abyss, an acceptance that Gabriel could drive him to ecstasy despite representing everything that Crowley hated. No sooner than Crowley submitted himself to the debasing thought, he felt the Archangel's power - not his hand - wrap around his weeping traitor of a cock. It tightened around him; not to finally send him over the precipice, he realised with dawning horror, but to keep him trapped on it, to allow him but the barest glimpse of awful satisfaction.

Crowley howled at the denial, tears streaming. Gabriel tugged at his hair, forcing his head back, making his spine curve. He felt a dull throb from the cut on his cheek and through his eyebrow, face so swollen on that side that he could barely see out of it. His hands scrabbled uselessly against the barrier, fingernails slipping against the nothingness. He sobbed - with relief or disgust, he wasn't even sure anymore - when, what felt like centuries later, Gabriel's pace finally stuttered and he spilled into Crowley, filling him to the brim, overflowing. Crowley groaned brokenly at the cloying weight of it, legs giving way when the Archangel pulled out, more splattering over his back.

He knew exactly how pathetic he must look like this - bloodied and bruised, slumped over in defeat, angry red cock a breath away from relief. Crowley closed his eyes to shield himself from Gabriel's undoubtedly triumphant expression and let his head roll listlessly to the side, the cool metal and stone a soothing agony against his battered face.

Gabriel clicked his fingers, and all visual signs of injury disappeared from Crowley's body. The pain still lingered, though, as did the cum liberally striped across his back and thighs. Crowley cracked his eyes open, wondering what was going on. Hoping desperately that this didn't mean that what had happened was only round one.

The Archangel smiled sardonically at the demon's confusion. "Can't have our dear Principality thinking you're not _enjoying_ yourself, now can we?"

Then, with another click and the smell of ozone, he vanished.

Crowley's resolve, already worn razor-thin, broke. He wrapped his hand around his aching cock and wept as he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've mentioned this on any of the fics I've posted here yet, but I give permission for any and all fanart, fanfic, podfic, and anything else you can think of, of any of my works, so long as you let me know/send me a link to the finished product.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place over the years leading up to Warlock's fifth birthday, because while I get that it made sense for the purposes of the visual narrative for them not to get more involved in Warlock's life before he turned five (I mean, with the time constraints of the episode, it would have been difficult to have them come in earlier, have the baby age up, then start engaging in dialogue with him about how he has to love/destroy the world), realistically, it doesn't make sense for them to have waited that long.
> 
> Unless, for whatever reason, Crowley and Aziraphale weren't on the best of terms. ;)
> 
> (Yes, I said years. Yes, I'm terrible. Yes, this chapter will hurt. No, I'm not sorry.)
> 
> (Edit: I am weak, have more art. Also how do you draw male torsos aaaaaahhhhh)

"Is this… going to become a regular occurrence?" Aziraphale asked, clearly struggling to not sound annoyed as he made Crowley presentable again with a wave of his hand.

Crowley could hardly blame him. He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Apparently. World ending in a decade, 's got everybody Downstairs feeling a bit randy with excitement. Have to put that energy to use somehow."

Aziraphale struggled a little harder. "Couldn't you ask them not to do it like this?"

"Doubt it would change their mind."

He faltered, brow furrowing in confusion. "But… I thought you said you wanted this?"

Ah, shit, the angel was giving him that wounded look again. Like he knew there was something that Crowley wasn't telling him. "I do," Crowley said, hating himself. "It's… complicated, angel. You wouldn't understand."

"I suppose I don't," he said quietly. Crowley felt a lump settle in his throat. "I do wish you'd talk to me, Crowley. Tell me what's truly bothering you about all this."

Crowley sniffed, clearing his throat to keep his voice from cracking. "Still being trapped in a demon summoning circle's sort of bothering me," he muttered, because it was true. It also being a good deflection was just an added bonus.

"Oh, my dear boy, you should have reminded me sooner, I'm so sorry," Aziraphale fluttered, miracling several pieces of metal free from the floor in his haste. Crowley tried not to look too eager to step out of the circle.

The demon shuffled his feet awkwardly. "We better get a move on, then. Rather not stay here longer than I have to, now the exciting bit's over."

Aziraphale glanced around the room, lingering on the perpetually damp walls glistening in the low light. "I can't quite say I blame you. You know, for a place devoted to Her, they've really not done a particularly good job of keeping their house in order."

\----------------

Gabriel set up an erratic schedule for the summonings, keeping Crowley on his toes. The demon wouldn't hear that triplet of phrases for over a fortnight, then he'd have it twice in the same week. Or it would be radio silence for nearly a month, then Gabriel would steal him away for an entire weekend. For five consecutive weeks, Gabriel summoned him every Tuesday, before resuming a pattern of randomness.

Then, nothing for three months. Crowley had almost cautiously allowed himself to hope that maybe the Archangel had decided to abandon whatever his plan was, had even begun hanging around with Aziraphale nearly as regularly as he had before all this had started. There was still a stiltedness between them, conversation not flowing nearly as easily as it used to as, for different reasons, they danced around the fact that neither of them particularly wanted to talk about what happened when Crowley got summoned. He'd still see glimmers, though, of Aziraphale desperate to restore their friendship to what it had been, and Crowley latched onto those moments with equal tenacity. Sometimes, when they both pretended hard enough, it was like the whole thing wasn't happening.

So of course, it was when he and Aziraphale were in the bookshop's back room, each drunk off of enough wine to kill a human three times over, that he heard the awful, familiar refrain:

I SUMMON THEE, DEMON.

"'S getting late, 'ngel, 'm gonna head out," Crowley slurred, staggering to his feet.

Aziraphale, having been mid-sentence, gave him an affronted look. "I w's talking!" he said petulantly.

"Talk later," Crowley grunted, making an unsteady line for the door.

"Crowley!"

The demon ignored him.

I SUMMON THEE, AGENT OF SATAN.

Stupid. Idiot. Of _course_ Gabriel wasn't just going to leave him alone. He was a fucking _Archangel_. It wouldn't even occur to the bastard that giving up was an option.

Crowley heard clumsy movement behind him as Aziraphale belatedly realised that he wasn't listening, and picked up the pace, tripping over his own feet. It would be easier if he could have miracled himself sober, but time was not a luxury he could afford.

I SUMMON THEE, SERPENT OF EDEN.

He barely made it out the bookshop's front door, throwing a frantic miracle at his Bentley to drive itself home, before he was whisked away.

\----------------

The wine in Crowley's belly sloshed unpleasantly as he stumbled into the circle, steadying himself against the barrier. He _really _wished he'd had the chance to sober up - this was just going to feel even more awful than usual as a result. Gabriel was observing him with mild disgust.

"Evening," Crowley greeted, squinting at the foul look the Archangel was giving him.

"Are you _enjoying_ your brazen attempts to corrupt a member of the Heavenly Host?"

"I was, up 'til around a minute ago," he agreed, then, when Gabriel's expression grew darker, added, "Y'seem upset. Bad day at the office?"

Gabriel slapped him with a ringing backhand that almost knocked the intoxication out of him through sheer force alone.

Crowley tasted iron and sulphur as his lip split open. On an entirely unrelated note, he also tasted bile, could feel the wine trying to purge itself from his body the only way it could without access to miracles.

"What's wrong, Gabe?" Crowley grinned, almost maniacal. His tongue flicked out, collecting the ichor dripping from the cut in his lip, staining his teeth with darkness. "You _jealous_? Bet you wish someone would invite you to whatever the celestial equivalent of after-work drinks is. Bet you don't even have any actual _friends_." He grinned wider as the Archangel advanced on him again. "I'd almost feel _sorry_ for you, if you weren't such a massive-"

The Archangel struck him again.

"-_Arsehole_," Crowley finished, spitting ichor onto the floor and glaring defiantly.

Gabriel lit up with divine fury, forcibly spinning Crowley around, shoving him up against the barrier and ripping his clothes off with a harsh miracle.

Then the Archangel fucked him from drunkenness, to raging hangover, all the way into sobriety.

\----------------

"So _this_ is where you've been since you dashed out on me the other night?"

Crowley rolled over to face Aziraphale, finding himself clean and covered in a newly conjured shirt and jeans. He stood up, dusting himself off. "'Lo to you too, angel."

"You know, I'm of half a mind to leave you in there," Aziraphale said crossly, and the mere prospect made Crowley freeze in terror. The angel immediately looked contrite. "I'm sorry, that was awfully rude of me. Here, allow me." There was a familiar shriek of metal, a familiar feeling of Crowley's powers returning to him. Aziraphale only ever marred the circle enough to break Crowley out. He had tried, one time, to tear the entire circle from the stone, sending the fragments to the bottom of the Pacific (much to the befuddlement of a crew of deep-sea divers working in the area), only to find Crowley once again trapped in a freshly reconstructed circle the very next day, so now he didn't bother.

"I didn't mean to run out on you, the other night. It was a little out of my hands," Crowley said, and made a gesture back at the circle with a wry smile. "I've got a few bottles of '73 Krug Brut at home, I could go grab those and we could pick up where we left off?" He could really do with some alcohol-induced obliteration of memories.

"I think it'd be best if we didn't," Aziraphale replied quietly.

Crowley felt the tentative bridge he'd spent the last few months building rip itself free from its flimsy supports and collapse. The angel was already turning away from him, and as such missed the utter devastation on his face.

\----------------

Crowley's shoulders tensed, leaning his weight into the barrier, eking out what little support he could glean from the desperate press of his fingertips against the invisible wall. It would be easier by far to cling to Gabriel's broad shoulders, but he didn't, for the same reason that he refused to lock his ankles together behind the Archangel's back - it was one of the few options for resistance available to him. And, unlike sassing the Archangel, it didn't make receiving his punishment any worse than it already was.

He kept his head turned to the side, staring at the rather uninspiring basement wall, not wanting to see the detached fury on Gabriel's face.

The Archangel had other ideas. "Look at me, demon," he demanded, then grabbed Crowley's chin before he had the chance to comply, pushing a thumb into his mouth to forestall any snide remarks. Crowley glowered helplessly at him, their faces inches apart, hating the growing satisfaction in Gabriel's expression. Sure enough, the Archangel slammed up into him even harder before suddenly slowing, forcing Crowley to watch him groan with pleasure as he found his release.

_Punishment my arse,_ Crowley thought sourly as Gabriel unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor and disappeared. _Bastard's getting off on this far too much for it to be just that._

\----------------

Aziraphale studiously avoided looking at Crowley's naked, aroused body. "I know you're a demon, dear boy, but this is truly getting excessive."

Crowley scowled, folding his arms as a new set of clothes miraculously wrapped around him. "It's really none of your business how I decide to carry on in my personal time."

The angel bristled, meeting his eyes now that he was halfway decent. "It is when you insist on _making_ it my business!"

"If it's _such_ a burden for you, maybe you should just leave me here, then!" Crowley snapped, his frustration flaring, then immediately wished he could claw the words back - he hadn't meant them, not really. As much as it tore at him to see the strain that this whole situation was putting on their friendship, to watch in helpless slow motion as Aziraphale gradually grew to resent him, the prospect of Aziraphale leaving him here, of Gabriel finding him still trapped in the circle weeks or months later, was too horrifying to contemplate.

Aziraphale's face flushed an angry red. "If this is all the thanks I'll receive, perhaps I will!"

Crowley bit his lip, pressing a hand against the barrier. "Don't," he begged softly. "'M sorry, all right? Please, angel, don't leave me here."

The angel settled, looking more upset with himself than with Crowley. "No need to apologise," he said automatically. "I wouldn't leave you here by yourself. I'm not cruel." He clicked his fingers, breaking the circle, and Crowley stepped out with a grateful sigh.

"I get that this isn't ideal for you," Crowley told him gently. "Let's say I make it up to you, hm? I'll treat you to lunch. Anywhere you want to go."

Aziraphale hunched his shoulders and looked away. "Wouldn't that rather defeat the purpose?"

Crowley frowned. What was _that _supposed to mean? "If you'd rather not see me, that's fine," he said, knowing full well that he was doing a piss-poor job at hiding the hurt in his voice. Say what he would, though, the guilt-trip worked - Aziraphale's shoulders slumped back down.

"Lunch would be lovely," he murmured, smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm sure there's a table free at the Savoy."

"Sounds great," Crowley replied, feeling miserable.

\--------------

"Happy anniversary, Gabe," Crowley greeted, blowing the Archangel a sarcastic kiss.

Gabriel frowned at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Crowley folded his hands behind his head, leaning back against the invisible wall behind him. "You've been raping me for a year now," he said casually, rolling his eyes when the Archangel's expression became enraged. "Yeah, yeah, you prefer the term _punishment_, I know, whatever you need to tell yourself."

The Archangel grabbed him by the throat and threw him up against the barrier.

"Are you upset I didn't get you anything?" Crowley wheezed. "I just figured that you wouldn't go in for material possess-" His words were cut off with a gurgle as Gabriel lifted him clear off the ground.

"You done?" Gabriel challenged.

Crowley's feet kicked uselessly at the air, and despite it all, he grinned, voice the barest croak.

"_Never_."

\---------------

One year became two. Became three.

Crowley could feel Aziraphale slipping away from him, bit by bit. They barely even saw each other anymore, except for the purposes of the Arrangement, and, of course, whenever Aziraphale had to come clean up the mess Gabriel had made of him. Every time the angel was summoned, Crowley felt the weight of his secret press down on him a little more, felt Aziraphale become a little colder when it came time to let him out of the summoning circle. He felt the steady erosion of six millennia of friendship, felt it grate against the very fibres of his being, but despite the hurt it caused him, he knew he had to actively encourage it. If Aziraphale ever figured out the truth, everything would unravel.

He'd cultivated a general aversion to touch out of principle over the millennia, but now it was ramped up to eleven. It made him shudder to think that the only person to have touched him in years was Gabriel, but he didn't have any other option. If Aziraphale touched him now, it wouldn't be because Crowley had initiated the contact, and he doubted that, even with supernatural levels of self-control, he'd be able to keep himself from flinching. Crowley took immaculate care to eliminate all but the most remote possibility of the two of them so much as grazing shoulders, masking any and all signs that anything untoward was going on. He'd been an agent of Hell more than long enough to know what all the red flags were, to know how to hide them. The only way through was to deflect Aziraphale's attention elsewhere ("Armageddon's on its way, angel, did you forget we were meant to be doing something about that? Because we've done bugger all about it so far!"), and to keep the angel from realising that Crowley's anger wasn't actually with him.

He wasn't infallible. Being a demon, it was pretty much impossible for him to be. He couldn't keep himself from still offering to take the angel out for a meal every now and then, from accepting on the vanishingly rare occasions when Aziraphale would offer the same. Even knowing that more likely than not, it would devolve into an argument that would just drive them further apart, he couldn't overcome his base need to have the angel in his life.

Because Crowley knew that for all the pain he was feeling, the other option was to lose Aziraphale entirely. No matter what snide remarks Gabriel made about Aziraphale's softness, he knew the angel would never forgive him for being the reason that he Fell. That possibility didn't bear thinking about.

Neither did the sort of things that would happen to Aziraphale if he Fell. Crowley already knew from personal experience that for all Gabriel's brutality, it paled in comparison to what Hell was capable of.

Aziraphale was strong, he knew. Strong enough to survive it if the worst were to happen, if Crowley failed and Aziraphale Fell.

_Crowley_ wasn't strong enough to endure that happening to his angel, couldn't bear being responsible for the angel's suffering.

His own suffering, that he could endure. He had to.

The alternative would destroy him.

\----------------

"Admit it, Serpent." Gabriel's tone was deceptively silky as his fingers massaged the demon's prostate, keeping him hovering right on the edge as he had done for the past several hours. "Just admit that you succeeded in seducing the Principality, and all this stops. I'll grant you mercy if you'd just tell me the truth." He pressed in a little deeper. "I'd say it's admirable that you withstood this much, _noble_ even, if you weren't a demon. You're only drawing out the inevitable by lying."

"Look, I know it does run contrary to what I am, but I_ have _been telling you the truth," Crowley told him, voice tight, arms shaking. "I've been trying six thousand years to get in his trousers, but he's never gone for it." It wasn't even a lie - he really did want to take Aziraphale to bed. To lavish attention on the soft curves of his body, to entangle with him on the deepest physical level possible. To love him. But to admit the extent of it all to Gabriel could only end in disaster. "I'm beginning to think he's not even interested."

That wasn't a lie, either. Crowley was harbouring genuine doubts that the regard Aziraphale held for him was only as a friend, nothing more. And even that much was coming into question these days. The angel had only ever seemed increasingly annoyed and upset at having to keep freeing Crowley from the summoning circle, never jealous of the demons that were supposedly having their wicked way with him. All the longing looks he'd thought he'd caught the angel giving him over the centuries were probably just the deluded fantasies of a pathetic demon.

Crowley couldn't figure out why Gabriel was still so insistent on getting him to lie about seducing Aziraphale. He would have thought the fact that he was going to such lengths to keep Aziraphale from Falling would have made it abundantly clear that he loved the angel far too much to ever throw him under the bus like that.

Still, whatever the reason, it clearly carried some significance, so Crowley would be blessed before he gave Gabriel what he wanted.

"Fine," Gabriel snapped, pulling his fingers out in a rough motion, nearly making Crowley's knees buckle. "Have it your way."

Without any further warning, Gabriel's cock was shoving all the way up into him.

Crowley passed out.

\----------------

Aziraphale pursed his lips, dismissing the mess coating Crowley and summoning up a fresh set of clothes for him. "Really, Crowley, _must_ you continue to besmirch church grounds with your dalliances?"

"It's hardly like I'm the location coordinator for the site of the besmirching," Crowley pointed out. "Besides, where else but in a church are you going to get a demonic summoning circle of this quality?" He rapped his knuckles against a bit of metal for effect. "Really, if you want to blame anyone, blame the humans that built the bloody thing in the first place."

The angel's eyes narrowed. "Oh, of course, blame the humans. It's not like you don't already blame them for everything else."

"Oh, come _on_, angel, you know that's not fair," Crowley protested. "You, of anyone, know that most of what I take credit for in my reports Downstairs is stuff they've come up with themselves. And half of what's left over is done by _you_."

"Yes, well," Aziraphale huffed, but didn't continue. Crowley couldn't find it within himself to feel happy about the victory.

"You going to let me out, or keep berating me?" Crowley nudged. Aziraphale huffed again, but obligingly opened the circle.

"I suppose I'll being seeing you again next time," the angel told him stiffly, then left.

"See you then," Crowley muttered to the empty basement, knowing that all too soon, there would have to come a day when Aziraphale would get sick of this, and just leave him in the circle to rot.

\--------------

Gabriel fucked Crowley for an entire week straight the next time he was summoned. He hadn't been allowed to cum the entire time, had been within an inch of breaking and begging for it when Gabriel had snarled an unangelic swear word at him, unloaded into him one last time, and disappeared in an angry peal of thunder. Crowley had been kept on edge for so many days in a row that the moment the Archangel's power withdrew, he wrapped his hand around his cock and came, too overwrought to even find any pleasure at finally getting some form of release.

Distantly, he heard Aziraphale's soft footfalls behind him, heard him sigh as he took in Crowley's drooling, fucked-out form, hand still curled limply around his cock. The angel snapped his fingers, returning Crowley to decency and breaking the circle, then left.

\------------------

Gabriel clicked his fingers. "Wings."

Wordlessly, Crowley used the small modicum of power Gabriel allowed him to let them unfurl, midnight feathers contrasting against his pale skin and flame-red hair. They had always been a point of pride for Crowley, as lustrous a black as the spaces between the stars that he'd helped create.

Now he hated them.

The Archangel would unfailingly coat them with semen whenever he forced Crowley to show them, would always grip them so harshly while fucking him that even the slightest increase in pressure would have seen the hollow bones shatter. Crowley always dreaded the thought that one day, the Archangel would go too far, that his control would slip, that the bones of demon's wings would finally splinter in his cruel grasp. Miraculous healing was always a bit of a funny thing when it came to appendages that didn't technically _exist_ in a physical sense. Crowley doubted even an Archangel would be able to repair damage like that.

\-------------

Aziraphale was visibly upset to see him; he had been the last few times this had happened. Crowley could see the faint quiver of his bottom lip as he conjured an umpteenth set of new clothes for him, already turning to leave.

"Don't be like that, angel. We never talk anymore," the demon said without humour. "How else am I supposed to get your attention?"

The angel turned back to him, expression pinched. "Surely you could _call_, or drop by the shop, rather than forcing me to attend to you after this- this _debauchery_."

Crowley's face hardened and he strode right to the edge of the circle, getting as far into Aziraphale's face as he physically could. "I _have_ called. I _have_ gone by the shop. You never answer anymore."

Aziraphale's cheeks coloured. "I've… been busy," he said feebly.

The demon laughed harshly. "Oh, fine, I'm just the only friend you've had for six millennia, but sure, I'm not important enough for you to make time for."

"I thought you were making it rather clear that you didn't _want_ me as a friend anymore," Aziraphale retorted, then suddenly seemed to fold in on himself. He sighed, for once looking as ancient as he truly was. "I don't know what you're trying to achieve here, I really don't. I can't keep doing this, Crowley."

"Can't you, now?" Crowley replied with an affected cool as his heart plummeted through his shoes.

This was it. Aziraphale was finally going to discard Crowley like the lost cause that he was. He'd never even know that it had all been for him. Crowley could hardly go throwing that in his face _now_, not when it was the only way to keep him safe. Crowley would rather the angel hate him than be subjected to the tortures of Hell.

Aziraphale's gaze was filled with sadness. "I suppose congratulations are in order. You've won." He looked away. "Why couldn't you just tell me outright that you didn't want to spend time in my company anymore? I'm not fragile, you know."

That floored Crowley for a solid few seconds. "…That's not what this is about!" he hissed, bristling at the suggestion that he was doing this out of _spite_, angry that he still couldn't bear to hurt Aziraphale more by telling him the truth. The angel would only blame himself. "I never wanted it to be like this! Do you think I _like_ having you have to come free me every time I'm done having a shag?"

The angel looked at him in anguish. "Stop_ doing _this, then!"

Even though he knew Aziraphale didn't know that this wasn't at all Crowley's choice, his words still stung like a slap to the face. Crowley's eyes narrowed, not deterred by the miserable expression that had settled on the angel's face the moment he'd spoken. "I've always saved _you_ from whatever idiocy you've embroiled yourself in over the millennia. Is it really too much to ask the same of you, even if it is after I've had a roll in the sheets with some other demons? C'mon, angel, we both know that the love of Heaven more than encompasses carnal acts, it's mostly just a bunch of wilful mistranslations that has the humans thinking otherwise. Don't tell me you're that much of a prude."

"I can't stand us both pretending we don't both know what's really going on!" Aziraphale suddenly exploded, tears welling in his eyes. Crowley froze. "I know it isn't demons doing this, Crowley! I _know_ it's Gabriel!"

A wave of nausea rolled through Crowley's body, a sense of dread curdling in his stomach as the pieces slowly clicked together. "How… how long have you known?" He had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer.

"I've known since the first time," Aziraphale whispered, confirming Crowley's worst fears. "I know it was awfully selfish of me not to tell you I knew sooner, but I rather thought that if you weren't admitting it to me yourself, you didn't want me to know."

Crowley's voice was thick. "I… I didn't want to upset you."

A sad smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips. "You always were such a noble demon," he murmured. "But you needn't try to hide your feelings for my sake." He drew a shuddering breath. "I know you're in love with Gabriel."

_What?_ That was the _last_ conclusion he would have expected Aziraphale to draw. Crowley felt confused more than anything.

But then, he remembered what he'd told Aziraphale the first time this happened - that it couldn't possibly have been an angel that did this, because what angel could fuck a demon without Falling, unless they were in love?

Oh. Oh _no_.

Had Aziraphale really thought that Crowley was in love with Gabriel this entire time?

To Hel- Heav- to _somewhere_ with the consequences, he _had_ to tell him the truth now. "Aziraphale-"

The angel held up a hand, closing his eyes in pain. "Please, you don't have to say anything, my dear. I understand, truly I do." He opened his eyes, tears clinging to his lashes, and took a shuddering breath. "Gabriel is confident, tall, dashingly handsome. He's everything I'm not." He summoned a watery smile that utterly broke Crowley's heart. "I can't say I entirely_ understand _why you would want all…" He made a vague, embarrassed gesture that encompassed the summoning circle and the things that had occurred within it. "…_this_, but I do understand that it's important to you, that it's something you desire. I understand that I'd never be able to give you what you need."

Crowley felt like he was drowning, like the shoreline was vanishing over the horizon as he was dragged out to sea.

Aziraphale continued before the demon could gather himself enough to speak. "I know I was foolish to let myself think that my own feelings for you would ever be anything more than a fantasy. I know you were too kind to tell me outright to stop pursuing you, but I was too weak to accept it when you were trying to tell me your heart belonged elsewhere." The tears began to fall. "I was selfish. I told myself it was all right, that I was happy so long as you were, that being in your company while you were angry with me was better than not seeing you at all. That I would get used to it." His chin trembled. "As it happens, I was wrong. It's only gotten harder over the years, and I don't have the strength to keep watching you be in love with someone else. I'm truly sorry, Crowley."

The demon could barely talk past the lump in his throat. He'd wanted a confession of love from the angel for millennia, but never like _this_. His hands pressed uselessly against the barrier. "Aziraphale," he croaked. "Wait, I-"

"Please, don't," Aziraphale begged softly. "I know you only do it out of a misguided attempt at compassion, much as you always refuse to admit you're capable of it, but I truly can't bear lying to myself anymore. I'll let Gabriel know, he'll come fetch you, I'm sure. Goodbye, Crowley." He clicked his fingers and disappeared.

"-love you," Crowley whispered to the empty room, sinking to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toot toot, all aboard the Pain Train to Angst Town, motherfuckers


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, picking Crowley up and shaking him with a frown: I think I broke him
> 
> Yeah, sorry, I'm still rather mean to him this chapter. Scratch that, I'm actually kind of brutal to him (or, more specifically, Gabriel is). It does get better in the second half of the chapter, though?
> 
> Also, you can blame Abaddon_Hope (rather than my own self-indulgence) for this, but there's more art about halfway through the chapter (not _technically_ NSFW, but does involve a naked Crowley being sad). You can right click > view image in a new tab to see the high res version, see all those good good hair details :)

Crowley quickly lost count of the days. He felt entirely numb for the first few. Then he spent a while restlessly pacing the confines of his demonic holding cell. Then he started beating at the invisible wall, the impacts making no sound as he screamed for someone to let him out.

He almost wished one of the creepy humans that had been there the first time he'd been summoned would wander in, to break the monotony if nothing else, but his solitude remained uninterrupted.

He spent a lot of time weeping.

His mind couldn't really seem to settle on who to blame for his predicament. Gabriel was a strong contender, obviously. When he was feeling particularly full of rage, he'd blame Aziraphale, too - for not giving Crowley the chance to say he loved the angel back, for believing that he could possibly be in love with Gabriel instead, for not fucking _saying anything_ for four whole _years_ when he'd known that Crowley was lying to him.

Mostly, though, he blamed himself for being stupid enough to fall in love with an angel in the first place. He'd always known, deep down, that it never would have ended well. God and the rest of the universe wouldn't be so kind to a demon.

And still, he'd pushed and pushed, made Aziraphale fall in love with him, too, only to break his heart.

Maybe he did deserve this.

With an anguished cry, he slammed his fists against the barrier with an unsatisfying absence of sound, then slid to floor.

A while after that, he began talking up at the ceiling.

"Bet you're having a right laugh about this," Crowley muttered. He could barely feel the prickling sensation of the consecrated ground above him anymore, his body having grown numb to it. "What, an angel and a demon loving each other violates the natural order of things, so you thought it'd be fun to have us both be miserable instead?" He tipped his head back against the barrier and closed his eyes, letting out a derisive snort. "Who am I kidding. You don't care. I doubt you're listening, if you even_ can_ with this in the way." He cast a baleful look at the circle keeping him captive. "That is, if you're even still _there_ in the first place. From what I've heard, no one's gotten a direct line with you in ages, and it's hardly like you go 'round talking to humans yourself anymore. For all that anyone else knows, you could've fucked off somewhere centuries ago. Bloody state the world's in these days, I wouldn't be surprised."

Just as he expected, he was met with complete and utter silence.

He sighed in disgust, propping his chin on his knees, and spent the next few days motionlessly staring at the opposite wall.

\------------

"I almost didn't believe Aziraphale when he told me, but here you still are," Gabriel's smug voice sounded behind him. Crowley didn't have the energy to flinch. "Took long enough."

"You're one to talk," Crowley muttered, not shifting, voice cracking slightly from disuse. "How long ago did he tell you I was still down here? Three weeks? Four?"

He practically heard Gabriel shrugging. "More or less. You're hardly top priority."

Crowley let out a soft snort, turning his head slightly to the side to watch the Archangel out of the corner of his eye. He could only stomach not being able to see what Gabriel was doing for so long. "Could've fooled me. You've definitely devoted plenty of time to this little project, without much to show for it."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. I'd say this has all gone pretty much exactly the way I planned, even if it took a little longer than I wanted." He clasped his hands together, giving Crowley a big, used-car-salesman grin. "One last thing to get to, and we're all done."

"I'm really not in the mood for this, Gabriel."

"That's too bad," Gabriel said, sounding not at all sincere. "Good thing this isn't about what _you_ want."

The demon sighed. "Just fuck off already."

Gabriel's expression hardened. "I'm not done with you yet, Serpent. Now that Aziraphale's gone, you're the only loose end that still needs tying up."

Crowley heart froze for a moment, hoping he'd misunderstood. "…Gone?" he rasped, horror-struck, a chasm opening up within him as he twisted around to stare up at the Archangel. He couldn't possibly mean-

Gabriel rolled his eyes skyward. "Yes, gone _home_, honestly, what do you take me for?" he said impatiently. "That's what this was all _about_, after all. He's finally opened his eyes to the fact that he was being led towards temptation down here and rededicated himself to the Heavenly Host. I just need to have you admit it, on record, in case he ever gets it in his head to start doubting again." He shook his head. "I've got to say, you've _really_ made my work hard on this one, keeping your grubby hands off a member of the flock. The truths I've had to bend."

Realisation dawned on Crowley. "_You_ told him I was in love with you," he whispered. "He didn't come up with that on his own. It was all you."

The Archangel smiled thinly. "He's certainly naïve enough to think you're even capable of love. But we both know better, don't we?" His voice trailed into a lower octave. "We both know what you _really_ want, _demon_."

Crowley scrambled to his feet and took a step back. Gabriel matched him, stepping into the circle. Unable to stop himself, Crowley retreated further, despite the alarmingly limited room he had to move in. The Archangel advanced, dismissing the clothes Aziraphale had conjured for him with a wave, and Crowley stumbled at their sudden absence. His heel caught on one of the rings of the circle, and he couldn't stop himself from falling. He scrabbled backwards and hit the barrier, pressing his palms flat against it as he shoved himself upright once more. He braced his legs despite having nowhere to run, shoulders sloping down in an unconscious effort to present a smaller target. Gabriel loomed over him, crowding into his space. "Turn around," Gabriel ordered quietly, tone brooking no argument.

Crowley wanted to glare at him and defiantly ignore the command. He wanted to spit in Gabriel's face, tell him exactly where the Archangel could shove his demands.

He would have done all those things, if he'd had any resolve left.

Instead, he obeyed, pressing his forearms and forehead against the barrier.

"Wings," Gabriel said, just as softly, far more triumphantly.

The demon's shoulders tensed, but he obeyed again. He shuddered as Gabriel's fingers trailed along the sensitive base of his wings before tracing down the curve of his spine. These fleeting gentle touches were always so much worse for the brutality that followed them.

"Hands above your head," the Archangel told him, and, shaking, Crowley complied. Gabriel gathered his wrists in one hand and pressed them against the barrier, his other hand continuing its slide down Crowley's back. He rested a miracle-slicked finger against Crowley's hole long enough for the tension to send the demon's shoulders almost up to his ears, then pushed in.

"No," Crowley whimpered, unable to stop himself.

"Oh, you don't want this? You should've said something sooner," Gabriel told him, adding a second finger. Crowley felt hot tears burn at the corners of his eyes as the Archangel slowly stroked his prostate, clearly intent on dragging this one out.

Gabriel worked him over until he was trembling with unwelcome desire. He kept the tears from falling with what little willpower he had left, even when Gabriel removed his fingers and replaced them with the tip of his cock.

The Archangel seized Crowley's hair, pulling his head back so that their chests were flush. The silken rub of Gabriel's cashmere jumper against the base of his wings was just another level of unwanted friction.

"Do you want to know why your body reacts like this to punishment, demon?" The Archangel's breath was hot against the shell of Crowley's ear as he slowly breached his entrance. "Because deep down, you know you _deserve it_."

Crowley sent a furious message down to his cock to stop enjoying this so bloody much. As usual, it ignored him, stubbornly curving up towards his stomach.

"If you'd just admit it, show me you're truly sorry for your sins, then I'll consider your punishment complete," Gabriel murmured, pressing up all the way inside him before slowly easing out. Crowley whited out for a few blissful seconds, then slammed back to reality as Gabriel's hips snapped forward once more. "Just _admit it_, and this ends."

_Great_, Crowley thought, distantly feeling a line of drool trickle from the corner of his mouth. _I'm going to be stuck here forever._ He was feeling far too fatalistic to fully grasp the true horror of his predicament, mind blocking it out in favour of focusing on the way the head of the Archangel's cock was dragging over his prostate.

Even with Aziraphale ostensibly safe in Heaven, he knew he still couldn't give in. There was no guarantee that Gabriel wouldn't turn around and use Crowley's forced confession to make Aziraphale Fall, after all. If Gabriel had been telling the truth earlier, that he planned to use Crowley's admission of guilt to further convince Aziraphale that Heaven was the only place he was truly loved, then that wasn't much better. Crowley knew that being told their millennia of friendship had been nothing but a lie would only break Aziraphale's heart more.

Gabriel's hand tightened in Crowley's hair, the other sliding down to leave bruises on his hip as he drove into him with particular viciousness. "He isn't coming to save you," Gabriel growled. "He _left_ you here, he doesn't want anything to do with you anymore. What does trying to deny that you succeeded in tempting him even _get_ you, except more of _this_?" He punctuated the cruel words with a crueller thrust. "_Just. Admit. It._"

Crowley felt something warm and wet pooling in the divot between his collarbones, and only then realised he'd been crying profusely, probably for several minutes now. It was hardly the first time he'd cried in front of Gabriel at this point, but it _was_ the first time that the cause was something other than overstimulation.

"I can't," Crowley croaked, feeling himself fracture into a thousand pieces under the crushing hopelessness of it all. "He didn't _do anything_." Fresh tears dripped from his chin. "I'm just a worthless demon, he never even really wanted me to begin with." He hated himself for how true the words felt.

"_Pathetic_," Gabriel snarled, pressing in deep one final time and filling Crowley to the brim. Crowley clawed at the barrier, weeping, desperate for it to finally end. His knees gave in when Gabriel pulled out, leaving him to slide down the barrier to the floor, the Archangel looking on in disgust.

"I really should just smite you," he sighed.

Crowley closed his eyes and hid his face in the crook of his elbow, not protesting. At least it would be over, then.

"…No, I'm not going to bother," the Archangel decided eventually, and Crowley couldn't tell whether or not he was relieved. "You can't learn your lesson if you're destroyed, can you?"

Crowley didn't answer, and Gabriel sighed again, sounding annoyed. "Well, trying to get anything else out of you is clearly going to be a waste of time," he said, clicking his fingers. The circle opened up with a familiar metallic shriek and the Archangel disappeared with a thunderclap.

It took Crowley almost an entire day to muster the will to leave the circle.

\----------- 

\-----------

He supposed it really shouldn't have come as a surprise, but Crowley wound up standing outside the bookshop.

The sign in the window said 'CLOSED', which wasn't particularly unusual given the bookshop's purposefully erratic opening hours. What was unusual was that underneath, it said, 'UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE'.

Crowley's hand trembled as he rested it on the door handle, taking a few deep breaths that didn't really do anything to calm him before miracling the lock.

He pushed into the bookshop, and all the air he'd hastily sucked in punched out of his lungs, his knees nearly buckling when he saw the interior.

For the first time in two centuries, the shelves were bare of books. There were a few boxes, neatly taped up and presumably filled with tomes that had previously resided on the shelves, but not nearly enough of them to house all of Aziraphale's vast collection. The myriad rugs that had adorned the floor were gone; the few remaining pieces of furniture loomed like ghosts under their dust covers. It finally began to set in that Aziraphale was really _gone_, somewhere Crowley couldn't ever reach him, that the angel had made his choice and it wasn't to be with Crowley. Even if Aziraphale didn't know the actual facts of the situation, even if he'd finally admitted to loving Crowley, the rejection still tore at him like a ragged blade.

He drifted among the empty stacks like a spectre, heels dragging under the weight of all the memories he'd made here - countless enthusiastically nonsensical drunken conversations in the back room; Aziraphale pretending not to smile as Crowley devised increasingly ludicrous shenanigans in order to scare customers away from the shop for him; curling up in one of the shop's overstuffed armchairs in a patch of sun, feigning sleep whilst secretly watching the angel read in the chair opposite him.

These memories were all he had, now. He wouldn't get the opportunity to make any more. The realisation took his legs out from under him, and he sagged to the floor, faint eddies of dust swirling around him, all at once feeling very, very alone.

Then, with the same spark of creative curiosity that had gotten him kicked out of Heaven in the first place, he came up with a question: what if Aziraphale wasn't as unreachable as he thought?

He was going to do something that he doubted any demon had ever attempted. He wasn't even sure that it would work.

Crowley got on his knees, pressing his palms together in front of him, bowing his head. He wasn't going to pray to God - he'd never gotten an answer from Her the few times he'd sent impotently rage-filled prayers skyward over the millennia, and he doubted throwing accusations about one of her favoured children would change that, no matter how well-founded those accusations were.

No. He was going to pray to the one being he actually believed in, even if his belief had been battered and bruised beyond comprehension over the past few years.

He was going to pray to his angel.

"Aziraphale," he murmured, a little uncertain, feeling rusty. "I… don't know if you're listening, or if you can even hear me. If you even_ want_ to hear me." He gritted his teeth and ploughed on. "I need to talk to you, and this isn't a conversation we can have over a prayer line. I'm at the bookshop, I promise all I want is to talk, I'll explain everything once you're here. You can do whatever you want after, go straight back to Heaven and never see me again if you like, I just need a chance to explain. Please, just give me a chance."

He cracked an eye open only to find the shop still empty. He clasped his hands tightly, pressing his entwined knuckles to his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut again. "Please," he whispered. "I'm begging you, angel, please."

There was a flash of light, so bright that his vision was stained crimson through his eyelids. He blinked, clearing away the dazzling spots, and there was Aziraphale, the ends of his cherubic curls still faintly glowing. Aziraphale blinked a few times himself before his gaze fell on the repentantly positioned demon on the floor. Tears filled the angel's eyes. "Why are you doing this?" The words were gut-wrenchingly heartbroken. "I've already told you, I accept that you're in love with Gabriel." His throat bobbed. "If… If you're going to ask me to stop loving you, I'm afraid that won't be possible, but I can promise that I'll leave you be and never mention it again. I won't do anything to get in the way of your happiness."

"Aziraphale," Crowley said breathlessly, words rushing to leave him before Aziraphale disappeared on him again. "I'm not in love with Gabriel."

The tears began to fall. "…I don't understand. Gabriel-"

"Has been _raping_ me, Aziraphale. It isn't love, it never was."

Aziraphale took a step back, aghast. "What? No, no, he's an _Archangel_, he wouldn't…"

Crowley tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted violently at Aziraphale's instinctive refusal to believe the Archangel was capable of such a thing. "He wouldn't abuse his power?" he challenged, words taking on a desperate edge. "Use it to belittle someone beneath his station? _Look at me_, angel." He spread his arms wide, eyes glistening, and finally_, finally_, let the façade drop. He did nothing to mask the pain he'd been bottling up the past four years, letting it flow out of him like a raging flood, draining himself dry. It was an awful, sweeping catharsis, and he didn't know that he felt any better for letting it out. Just that he couldn't have kept it in for a second longer. His voice was raw when he spoke again. "Tell me you honestly believe that I'm lying about this."

The angel staggered backwards from the force of it, sagging against an empty bookshelf. "My God," he breathed, looking increasingly horrified. "I… I don't even know where to begin… Crowley, I'm so _sorry_."

"'S not your fault." Crowley reigned in his emotions and slid back into a seated position, bringing his knees up to his chest. He felt strangely hollowed out, like shifting the burden of his secret from his shoulders had left him so light that he was in danger of simply floating away.

"But it _is_!" Aziraphale shoved away from the bookshelf, burying his face in his hands as he sank onto a sheet-covered sofa. "He told me that any love I could offer you wouldn't be strong enough to return your Grace to you, that only an Archangel's love could accomplish that. That by continuing to associate with you, I was only confusing you and making the process more difficult to complete. I realise now that that wasn't his true reasoning, that he must have had a more… _traditional_, I suppose, motive for not wanting me to see you anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that he's only done this to you because of your association with me." His eyes watered again. "I don't know how I can ever ask you to forgive me. This never should have happened to you."

Crowley drew his knees in tighter, wrapping his arms so tightly around them that his fingers left bruises on his thighs, mind still caught somewhere halfway through Aziraphale's explanation. "…You want me to Rise?" he asked, his tone too carefully level to sound natural.

"Of course not, Crowley," he said gently. "I know you don't want that. I only thought _you_ thought you wanted that, in order to please Gabriel." He folded his hands carefully in his lap, keeping his gaze on his own entwined fingers. "He told me that the summoning circle had been your idea, as a means for you to tell me that you weren't interested in me without having to say it outright." Aziraphale looked at him again, shamefaced. "I'm truly sorry that I didn't see through his lies. I know it's a poor excuse, but I was in rather deep denial about the whole thing."

The demon made a choked sound. "It was never about not wanting you, angel. It was just the opposite." Crowley met his gaze, eyes beseeching. "Aziraphale… I love you. Surely, you have to know that."

Aziraphale promptly slid off the sofa and onto the floor in shock. "You do?" he said faintly. A complicated set of emotions flitted across his face, his utter delight at Crowley reciprocating his feelings going to war with sorrow at the context within which the revelation was being delivered. He somehow managed to pull off a look of elated despair.

"With a big capital L and everything," Crowley confirmed, swallowing thickly.

"How could Gabriel possibly use that against you?"

The question had obviously been rhetorical, and a question of morality rather than actual fact, but Crowley answered anyway. "He… He doesn't think it's real. That I'm not even capable of it. He said…" The demon swallowed. "If I didn't do as he asked, he'd have you Fall."

Aziraphale frowned, all other emotions giving way to confusion. "He can't do that."

Crowley scoffed humourlessly. "I don't think Gabriel's especially concerned by what he is and isn't allowed to do. He's gotten away with this much already."

The angel shook his head. "No, I rather meant that he is genuinely incapable of making me Fall. Not without the Almighty's approval, at any rate. She has to personally sanction every Felling. Checks and balances, you know, to keep things like this situation from happening. And She would hardly have me Fall for this." His expression was open, full of honest yearning. "Crowley, I could _never_ Fall for loving you."

"…What?" Crowley felt sick. Everything he'd gone through the past four years, the pain, the suffering, having to watch his angel slowly become closed off from him - had it all been completely unnecessary? "You weren't even in danger?"

"You've not been in Heaven in over six millennia, how were you to know that's how these things work? You believed you were protecting me, that's all I care about."

"But it was all a _lie_. What I went through, it didn't matter." Crowley could feel himself crumbling, all the parts of him held together by the barest of threads now unravelling at the seams. The breath he didn't need seemed to constrict in his chest. He couldn't tell if it was fighting to get in or out; all he knew was that he was falling apart. "It didn't mean _anything_."

"Oh, no, my darling, you mustn't see it like that," Aziraphale implored, shuffling forward on his knees. "It means _everything_ to me, that you would go through that for _years_ for my sake. I can only hope to prove myself worthy of such a sacrifice." He reached out tentatively, only to pull back when Crowley flinched. Aziraphale did his best to not look devastated. "My beautiful, _brave_ demon," he murmured, eyes brimming with tears. "How could I ever have been so cruel as to doubt you?"

"Not your fault," Crowley croaked. "'S mine. I was stupid."

"Crowley, no. _Never_. Not about this." His hands lifted again, wanting to comfort, and his face crumpled as he realised that his touch might well make things worse. "I'll stay here, with you, as long as you need me to," he said as he lowered his arms, searching Crowley's body language for any sign of a positive reaction. He shrank a little, voice thickening as he continued, "Or, if you'd rather I go, I could-"

"No!" the demon shouted, unthinkingly grabbing for Aziraphale, desperately catching the angel's fingers between his own to stop him from leaving.

Crowley stared at where their hands were entwined. Even before this whole debacle had started, he had always done his best to avoid touching the angel, not able to trust himself to be able to react appropriately. He realised he'd been right to do so - after millennia of being denied a kind touch (outside of what he'd gleaned from an occasional entanglement with a human), after years of nothing but Gabriel, Crowley's very nerves felt as if they were on fire. It utterly overwhelmed any aversion to contact he would have felt if it were anyone else.

It took him several seconds to realise he was openly weeping.

Aziraphale shifted closer, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. His free hand touched against Crowley's back with the slightest amount of pressure, encouraging him to lean in but giving the demon plenty of freedom to pull away if that was what he needed.

He buried his face in the angel's shoulder and clutched at him like he'd otherwise split apart on an atomic level.

"I love you dearly, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured into his hair, hand moving in gentle, soothing strokes over Crowley's back, and Crowley was breaking, cracking down the middle in the absence of the tension that had been the only thing holding him together. "I've been such a fool, and you've been so, _so_ courageous, that you'd take on such brutality for my sake without any thanks for it for _years_, I truly don't deserve all that you've done for me…"

Crowley didn't know how long he knelt there, shuddering and sobbing in his angel's arms on the floor of the empty bookshop. Certainly long enough for the square of sunlight shining through the window in the door to slide up along his back, warming him almost as much as Aziraphale's embrace. The angel held him delicately, not wanting to give Crowley any reason to flinch away from his touch, whispering quiet praise and apologies against the demon's head. After a while, the words subsided, drifting into the hum of some old violin piece that neither of them had heard in years, swaying gently to the tune as he waited for Crowley's tremors to abate.

"What do we do now?" Crowley whispered eventually, feeling utterly empty. "Gabriel can't make you Fall, but I'm sure he'll come up with something else to threaten your safety with. I can't let him hurt you. Then it really _would_ have been for nothing."

Aziraphale frowned and held Crowley a little closer, like he was more worried about what might happen to the demon. Like the foolish angel still didn't believe that an agent of Heaven would actively try to hurt one of their own. Crowley refrained from reminding Aziraphale that most demons had been Heaven's own at one point, as well - himself included.

The angel's fingers carded gently through his hair. "I could report this to-" He faltered a moment - Gabriel was his direct superior. "-To Michael," he decided. "She's a charitable sort, I'm sure she'd hear us - well, me - out. If I just explained to her what Gabriel has been doing, I'm sure she'd talk to the Almighty and arrange for him to be cast out of Heaven. There's no chance any of this was sanctioned by Her, and after all, that was Michael's job during the-"

"No!" Panic seized around Crowley's heart like a vice and he pulled away, sitting bolt upright, feeling like he was an inch away from turning into a snake and slithering off to hide under a shelf. "You can't tell Michael, you can't tell any of them. You can't let him Fall."

Confusion and hurt flickered across Aziraphale's face. "Whyever not?"

"If Gabriel Falls, Hell will want to know _why_. They don't see the sorts of things he's done to me as punishable, not when it's perpetrated by a supernatural entity like us, anyway. If anything, they'll think it's _hilarious_ and tell him to carry on doing it. He wouldn't have to hide what he's doing anymore, either." Crowley looked at him desperately. "Angel, please. If he Falls, he'll blame_ us_, and it'll just get _worse_."

"There must be _something_ we can do! We can't just sit idly by and let him get away with it." Aziraphale threw up his arms, got to his feet, and began pacing.

Crowley took a deep breath, gathering himself. He had to get it together. He couldn't keep being this weak. "You're the clever one," he said as he forced on a nonchalant façade, standing and glancing around at the empty shelves. "Sure you don't have any books in your collection about thwarting repugnant twat Archangels? Where've you put them all, anyway?"

Aziraphale stopped midstride. "How much warning do you usually get, when Gabriel has you summoned?" he asked slowly.

Crowley frowned, thrown by the sudden change in conversation. "About a minute, give or take. Why?"

"I'll have to do a bit more research," Aziraphale said in lieu of an answer, distractedly wandering over to an empty shelf. He reached up, pressing his fingers against a nearly invisible button that would have previously been hidden by the books on the shelf. A portion of the back of the shelf swung open, revealing a small hidden compartment containing all the demon-summoning tomes he'd acquired over the years. "Oh, I_ am _glad I could never bring myself to destroy these." He began pulling them down, stacking them on a small side table next to him, half-muttering to himself as he went. "A minute isn't much time, but it should be serviceable. I suppose it would be a smart idea to get one of those mobile phones you keep insisting I should have, just in case, learn this whole 'texting' business…"

Crowley's frown slowly curved up into a genuine grin, daring to feel hope for the first time in years. "You've got a plan, don't you?"

"Rather." Aziraphale flashed him a determined look, then returned his attention to the secret compartment, adding several more books to the pile. "We're going to - what's the phrase, again?" His eyes blazed with fire. "Ah, yes - we're going to beat Gabriel at his own game."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, calling back to a throwaway line from Chapter 1 in a way that was definitely planned for from the offset (please ignore the fact that this was originally a one-shot)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am weak, and made more art. It's more of a thematic fit for chapter 3, though, so I've posted it there before the body of the chapter instead (I know some people don't read the author's notes, so I've put a lil picture banner below). Go look! I actually gave Crowley a face in this one!
> 
> Also, we finally get to some comfort!
> 
> Well, sort of.
> 
> They talk, at least.

It was a good plan, Crowley told himself. Solid plan.

That Gabriel would end up summoning him again was inevitable. Crowley figured the Archangel had only let him out of the circle in the first place so that he wouldn't have to devote any time to wondering if an errant human might wander in and find him. Also, not that he wanted to really dwell on this aspect, but Crowley had been quite spectacularly broken when Gabriel had finished with him. The Archangel clearly didn't view him as a threat anymore, and had been arrogant enough to assume that Crowley wouldn't have the audacity to ever go toe to toe with an Archangel and actually think he could _succeed_.

For all that Crowley questioned Gabriel's intelligence, though, he knew that once the Archangel realised Aziraphale was no longer in Heaven, he wouldn't be so stupid that he couldn't figure out the most likely responsible party.

Gabriel would go after Crowley first, of that they were sure; after all, the circle was a sure-fire way of neutralising him, it would be far easier for the Archangel to get that out of the way first, then corner the wayward Principality once he was alone.

They'd decided against leaving the bookshop at all while they waited. Everything they needed was already there, after all, and they didn't want to risk prematurely alerting Heaven to Aziraphale's absence with an unauthorised miracle. Crowley had no such restrictions, of course, but still kept things to a minimum, despite wanting desperately to summon up enough alcohol to numb himself completely.

It didn't take long for them to have everything in order. This meant that very quickly, they found themselves with nothing to do but to wait for Gabriel to notice Aziraphale's absence.

They ended up sitting across from one another on a cosy couch that usually lived in the back room, but Crowley had wrestled out onto the main floor of the bookshop. They sat and stared at each other awkwardly, each waiting for the other to break the silence.

Crowley opened his mouth just as Aziraphale blurted, "Are you sure this is the best idea?"

The demon cocked an eyebrow. "You were the one who came up with the plan."

"I didn't mean _that_." Aziraphale sighed. "I meant, are you sure you want to be… with me?"

A furrow formed between Crowley's brows. "What kind of question is that? There's absolutely no one I'd rather be with."

"It's just that…" Aziraphale wrung his hands, biting his bottom lip. "I only worry that I won't… that all I can offer you won't be enough to satisfy what you need."

Crowley was dumbstruck for a solid few seconds. "Aziraphale, what on Earth would make you think that you wouldn't be _enough_ for me?"

The angel refused to meet his gaze. Crowley put two and two together.

"Aziraphale," he said, tone straddling the line between soft and stern. "What did he tell you, exactly, to make you think that?"

Aziraphale went scarlet. "He told me he'd given you what you truly wanted. Something that I was far too soft to ever be able to give you. I rather thought, you know, you being a demon and all, that it was some form of... catharsis, I suppose is the best way to put it." He looked ashamed of himself. "Repenting your sins, as it were."

"Oh, _Satan_," Crowley groaned, grinding the palms of his hands against his eyelids and throwing his head back. "Aziraphale, I didn't want that. I _don't_ want that."

"I realise that you don't want it from _him_, but I saw how it… _affected_ you," Aziraphale said wretchedly. "And I know I couldn't bring myself to demean you during the act, even if you gave me explicit permission. I don't have the stomach for it."

"I'm not _that_ self-flagellating, angel. It was just a physical reaction. Nothing more." He took hold of Aziraphale's hands, his voice firm. "Even if I did get a little turned on when he's done that to me, it doesn't mean anything, because I always felt like _utter garbage_ once it was over. Trust me, I know how this stuff goes." He gave the angel's fingers a gentle squeeze. "Besides, it's not really the demeaning talk that would get me going," he admitted. "It was more the power exchange."

"What, you'd like for me to… order you around, like some sort of slave?" Aziraphale was doing his best not to sound appalled, and largely failing.

"Not the dynamic I'm after, I promise," Crowley assured. "Think of it more like an exercise in trust. You, trusting me to do as I'm told. Me, trusting you to take care of me." Aziraphale's eyes widened a fraction, pupils dilating, and Crowley chuckled. "I'm guessing you like that option, too?"

"I do like the idea of taking care of you," Aziraphale said, so earnestly that Crowley had to bite back a groan of equal parts arousal and fond exasperation. "And I know that trusting doesn't come easily to demons, so I'd be honoured if you were willing to lay your trust with me."

"How can you make that sound so sexy?" Crowley all but demanded, softened by his affectionate tone.

"I'm sure it's largely your input."

"Flatterer." Crowley grinned, climbing onto his lap, slinging his arms over the angel's shoulders. He studiously ignored the fact that the sharp spike in his heartrate wasn't entirely down to positive emotions.

_It's not Gabriel_, he told himself fiercely. _He's not going to hurt you, stop reacting like he is._

Aziraphale went rigid. "Oh, you meant- right _now_?" He flushed, averting his eyes from the demon's.

Crowley drew back a little, stomach dropping, a small part of him feeling nauseatingly relieved. "…I thought you wanted to."

The angel's soft hands were warm on his hips. "I do, my dear, very much so. Believe me," he assured gently. "I'm only concerned that it's too soon, for you. Even if you're about to insist it isn't. The absolute last thing I want to do is to rush you into anything." Aziraphale coloured again. "I do realise the irony in that, but the point remains. My obliviousness to your true feelings has hurt you enough already."

Entirely unbidden, Crowley felt the sting of tears against the corners of his eyes. He swiped them away angrily. "But I want this," he said, knowing full well how petulant he sounded.

Aziraphale smiled gently, shifting Crowley off his lap onto the couch beside him and taking hold of his hands. "I know you do. But wanting something and being ready for it are two distinctly separate things." He gave the demon a gentle squeeze. "Wouldn't it be better, to wait until you're absolutely sure? At the very least, until after we sort out this Gabriel mess."

Crowley wasn't placated. "What if… what if he summons me, and your plan goes wrong? Angel, I don't want to be this close to having you and still fall short of the mark."

"All the more reason to wait. I think this whole situation with Gabriel would just put an unnecessary amount of pressure on the whole affair." He cupped Crowley's chin gently, gaze soft. "And, what if he summoned you in the middle of it? That would hardly be an auspicious start." He pressed a chaste kiss to the demon's forehead. "Besides, it's a rather good plan, if I do say so myself. I have every confidence that it will work. You just need to have a little faith."

"Faith," he repeated bleakly. "Right."

"It _will_ be all right, Crowley," Aziraphale promised. "I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from him. Nothing short of Armageddon will stop me."

"We're supposed to be doing something about that, too," Crowley couldn't help muttering.

"Yes. Well. One thing at a time, perhaps? I think the matter at hand is of a more immediate concern."

Crowley couldn't help but feel a little pleased that Aziraphale rated him as more important than the Apocalypse.

He leant over, fingers caressing the angel's cheek, and swooped in for a kiss.

Yes, kissing would be fine, Crowley thought. Gabriel had certainly never kissed him; any negative associations Crowley might have had with kissing were far older wounds than the ones the Archangel had inflicted.

"Crowley, I really don't think-" Aziraphale sighed before their lips could touch.

"Only this," Crowley promised, pulling away before the angel could, resting their foreheads together. "I don't need anything more than this right now, angel, but please, I _do_ need it."

Aziraphale's eyes were like two hazy lagoons this close up. "If you're certain," he murmured, not moving.

The corners of Crowley's mouth quirked upward. "Never been more certain of anything in my life. I love you, Aziraphale. Please kiss me."

Aziraphale kept his movements slow and deliberate, searching Crowley's face for any sign of hesitation, gaze only flicking down to Crowley's lips the moment before he met them with his own.

Crowley felt a warmth like sunshine, seeping all the way down into his bones, into his very core. It went as deep as it could go into him, then it went through him, so that Aziraphale's love and his own must surely be exuding out of his very pores. The feeling transcended his physical body, the gentle caress of Aziraphale's hand on his cheek sending ripples throughout his consciousness. He pressed closer, chasing more of that sensation, feeling the angel's utter adoration sweeping over him with nearly palpable force. It was beyond description, almost beyond comprehension, and it was drowning him in the best of ways. He was overflowing with it, yet couldn't get enough, and Crowley couldn't even remember a time when he'd ever felt so _loved_-

I SUMMON THEE, DEMON.

Crowley's eyes snapped open and he wrenched himself away. Aziraphale immediately pulled back, manoeuvring his hands clear of Crowley's body, but quickly realised that the fear on the demon's face wasn't from anything he'd done.

"It's happening, isn't it?" he asked, and Crowley nodded wordlessly.

Aziraphale shot up from the couch and bustled over to the communing circle etched into the floorboards, having already placed the necessary candles around its circumference earlier. What he was about to do rather flew in the face of the original intent of the circle, but it was all to a greater good. He had assured Crowley that God couldn't get too mad at them for that.

He knelt by the circle, pulling a matchbook from his waistcoat and striking a match, efficiently lighting each wick before moving on to the next. Crowley watched him anxiously, fingers digging into the plush couch cushions. He wished they could have had the circle prepared earlier, but Aziraphale had explained that someone might have noticed the output of angelic power if they'd left it running for days on end, so their best chance of this working really was to leave it to the last second.

I SUMMON THEE, AGENT OF SATAN.

"Aren't you rather glad we hadn't started anything, now?" the angel joked nervously, lighting the final candle. The circle lit up with a faint, pale blue glow.

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Crowley griped, feeling the tension and fear ratchet up his spine as he stood. He clenched and unclenched his fists, beginning to pace. "You're sure this'll work? If it doesn't work-" His voice cracked. "Angel, I don't think I'll survive it."

Aziraphale's eyes were gentle yet determined as he pulled one of the demon-summoning tomes towards himself, cracking the cover. "This will work. Trust me, my love."

Crowley's anxiety softened slightly around the edges. "I trust you," he said quietly. "Just… don't take too long with this, yeah?"

I SUMMON THEE, SERPENT OF EDEN.

"I'll be with you as soon as I can," Aziraphale promised, flipping to the page he needed and starting to chant under his breath.

Crowley felt the urge to make some sort of undoubtedly feeble quip, but didn't want to distract him. Instead, he offered a tight, strained smile to the back of the angel's bowed head, and felt himself get yanked away.

\--------------

"You're a better actor than I gave you credit for." Gabriel radiated cold fury as he glared at Crowley from outside the circle. "I really thought you'd learned your place. I thought I'd show a little mercy, letting you out." He spread his hands, slowly approaching. "And just look at how you repay my kindness."

Crowley let out a startled, brittle laugh. "You really believe any of what you've done to me was merciful? That you showed me kindness even _once_?" He felt like he was listening to himself talk from the other end of a long tunnel.

_Aziraphale, please hurry._

"Where's the Principality?"

The demon clenched his fists to hide their quaking. "He'll be along soon," Crowley told him, having to fight to keep his tone even. "He knows what you really did, by the way."

Gabriel didn't look ruffled. "So, what now? You expect me to just twiddle my thumbs while I wait for my own subordinate to show up?"

"More or less, yeah. Unless you reckon you've got something better to do."

The seconds dragged by at an agonisingly glacial pace. Crowley felt a bead of sweat slide down his spine, pulse roaring in his ears.

It shouldn't be taking this long.

_Aziraphale, where are you?_

Crowley swallowed dryly. "He'll be here," he said, more to reassure himself than anything else.

A look of sinister amusement spread across Gabriel's face as a few more seconds ticked by. "No, he won't," the Archangel replied softly, slowly advancing toward the circle. "He knows whatever you've offered him is a lie."

"That's not true," Crowley whispered, voice trembling, taking an involuntary step back.

"Oh, but it _is_," Gabriel countered, smirking. "He's finally figured out you're worth _nothing_."

It _wasn't true_. Aziraphale loved him. The kiss - it wouldn't have felt like that if he didn't. It hadn't just been Crowley's love pouring into it, his feelings had been, continued to be, reciprocated.

Right?

He opened his mouth to deny Gabriel's cruel words, but the words refused to come.

_I can't do this again. Please, not again._

Then there was a comforting flash of warmth at his back, the same feeling as curling up in an oversized armchair in the arms of someone you loved. He smiled, feeling the tension coiled around his spine instantly unwind.

"Hello, Gabriel," Aziraphale said from behind him, bravely lifting his chin. "I shouldn't think I have to tell you that you've been behaving appallingly. It's going to stop, right now."

"I'd _really_ like to see you try to do anything about it," the Archangel strode forward, his entire body nearly luminous with wrathful intent.

The stunned expression on his face when he collided with the barrier was almost comical.

Gabriel's eyebrows rose in outraged disbelief. "Aziraphale," he said disapprovingly. "What's the meaning of this?"

Crowley grinned, fear abating to a point that he almost felt manic. It had _worked_. "You've been hacked, Gabe."

The smile flickered and Crowley flinched as Gabriel suddenly struck the barrier with a sound like rolling thunder, lightning crackling under his hands. The barrier held firm, though, the sparks of electricity harmlessly dissipating along its perimeter. 

Aziraphale wasn't even paying attention to him, turning back to Crowley. "I'm so sorry my dear, that took a bit longer than expected," he murmured, stepping closer, caressing the demon's cheek with his thumb. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he muttered grimly, remembering his moment of doubt with shame. "I'll be better once we're done here."

"Are you sure you want me to handle this for you?"

He was sure. There was no point in confronting Gabriel himself. Crowley knew he wasn't going to get an apology - the Archangel didn't even think he'd done anything wrong, no amount of being yelled at by a demon was going to do anything to change that. Not that being yelled at by an angel that was his hierarchical inferior would be much better, but at least it would probably leave Crowley feeling less exhausted.

Crowley mustered the ghost of a smile. "Be my guest, angel. 'Bout time you did something to save me, for once."

Aziraphale returned the smile. "It would be my pleasure, my dear." He straightened his spine, tugging at the bottom of his waistcoat before turning smartly to look at Gabriel. "Right," he said firmly. "Give me _one single_ reason why I shouldn't smite you where you stand." They both knew Gabriel would destroy him if it came to a fight, but he was too angry to care.

"I didn't do anything to him he didn't deserve," Gabriel asserted. "He's a _demon_. All demons secretly crave punishment for their sins." He shrugged. "You can go on pretending that he loves you as long as you want. You'll realise I'm right in the end."

"_No one_ deserves the things you've done to him," Aziraphale retorted fiercely, wings bursting from his back to shield Crowley in a moment of incandescent rage. "You _raped_ him, Gabriel. You led him to believe that no one cared about him. You made him think _I _didn't care about him." He glowed with barely contained fury. "You're _never_ going to touch him again."

Gabriel actually took a step back before steeling himself. "How exactly do you plan on stopping me? Are you going to tattle on me to the other Archangels, is that it?"

"That was rather the plan, if it comes down to it, yes."

"Who d'you think they're going to believe, Aziraphale?" he said condescendingly. "An Archangel, or a lowly Principality who's been a few overindulgences from Falling for centuries?"

Aziraphale matched his tone, with an added layer of contempt. "You didn't really think the only alteration I made to the circle was to keep you out, did you?"

For the first time, Gabriel looked caught off guard.

"Tell him what else it does, angel," Crowley piped up gleefully.

The Principality smiled. "I've linked this circle to another. It's been remotely recording every damning thing that's been said since you got here. It'll be your own words against you, not just mine."

"Heaven won't care what's happened to him," Gabriel said, with only a slight hint of uncertainty. "He's a _demon_."

"That probably _is_ how they'll view it, yes," Aziraphale conceded. "But what do you think they'll make of the fact that _you_ were the one to perpetrate it all?"

Gabriel frowned.

"The psychological abuse? The _rape_? I wouldn't have thought that sort of thing was particularly becoming of an angel." He paused. "At least, one that wasn't Fallen." He gave the Archangel a hard smile. "After all, you were so sure that if I had made love to Crowley with consent, that would be enough to make a case for me to Fall, do you really suppose that forcing yourself on him against his will would be a lesser crime?"

"You're all talk," Gabriel said, seeming uneasy.

"I could have just as easily patched this straight through to Heaven, have you brought to judgement immediately," Aziraphale pointed out mildly. "I rather wanted to. Crowley insisted that you be granted a little mercy." The demon gave him a cheery wave. "He didn't want to stoop to your level." The gentle aquamarine of Aziraphale's eyes was ice cold. "Isn't that ironic?" he murmured, tone deceptively soft.

"So, what?" Gabriel asked incredulously. "You're going to blackmail me?"

"Nothing so tawdry," Aziraphale assured, withdrawing a tiny dagger, barely more than a letter opener, from inside his waistcoat, smiling faintly at the Archangel's confusion. "I propose an Accord, sealed by blood. I think that’s the best way to ensure everyone keeps their word, don't you?"

Gabriel blinked at him. "You'd make an Accord? Risk your own destruction for a _demon_?"

"I wish I could simply trust you to keep your word, but, well. I don't believe you've proven yourself particularly trustworthy, in light of recent events."

The Archangel laughed harshly. "Don't be such a drama queen, I'm not going to do anything else to him," he sneered. "I don't need to. This disgusting little affair of yours won't last. It'll be _way_ more satisfying watching the two of you eventually tear each other apart."

Crowley's lips twisted sardonically. "Think you're going to find yourself disappointed on that front, Gabe."

Gabriel rounded on him, glaring. "You'll turn on each other in the end," he spat. "Doesn't matter what _I _do. It's in your nature, you won't be able to stop it. Armageddon's, what, seven years away? You _really_ think whatever's going on between you will survive the Apocalypse?"

Crowley ignored him. "I'm pretty sure Aziraphale asked you a question," he said.

"You truly do only have two options, Gabriel. Agree to an Accord, or have all of Heaven find out about your misdeeds, be judged by God, and Fall."

The Archangel gave him a bitter smile. "What kind of choice is that?"

"One that is more than you deserve," Aziraphale told him coldly. "Hand against the barrier, if you please. I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist."

Gabriel bristled, then grimaced, pressing his palm against the barrier. He made no sound as Aziraphale sliced it open with the small knife before cutting his own hand open to match. Aziraphale's blood was a rich gold; Gabriel's was paler, almost a silver tint to it. Aziraphale pressed his palm against Gabriel's through the barrier, light shooting out from between their fingertips. It was a buttery sunshine warmth on the Principality's side, cold and searing and clinical on the Archangel's.

Aziraphale locked eyes with him. "Under this Accord, you, Archangel Gabriel, do so swear to refrain from inflicting any further harm to the demon Crowley, or subjecting me to the same. You will do nothing to remove me from my post on Earth, or attempt in any way to orchestrate a plan to separate us, and tell no one what you have done. In return, I, Principality Aziraphale, do so swear to keep the truth of your wrongdoings against the demon Crowley from the ears of those in Heaven, or in Hell. Do you agree to abide by the terms of this Accord, on pain of instant obliteration should you break this vow?"

"I do so swear," Gabriel forced out reluctantly through gritted teeth.

"I do so swear," Aziraphale echoed solemnly.

The light surged, making Crowley throw a forearm over his eyes or be blinded. The two angels stared each other down through it all.

Then it was done, not a sign of a scar or even a bloodstain on either of their hands as evidence of the Accord. They could both feel the faint hum of it, though, pressing against the underside of their skin, a faint threat of the repercussions should either of them go back on their word.

"I do believe we're done here," Aziraphale said crisply, shaking the tingles from his hand.

Gabriel glared at him. "I'll see you at your next performance review," he said snidely, then disappeared with a painfully loud clap of thunder.

"Well," Aziraphale huffed, pulling his wings back in and straightening his waistcoat as he turned back to Crowley. "That was entirely unpleasant. Are you _sure_ agreeing not to tell anyone what he's done was the best course of action?" He grimaced. "Not that I can exactly change my mind on it _now_, but…"

"I'm sure." His gaze flicked down to the circle. "Can we go?"

Aziraphale's face softened. "Of course, my dear." He wrenched the circle open, then offered his outstretched hand to Crowley, clearly not wanting to presume he'd be okay with holding hands. Crowley mustered a small smile and took it in his own. Aziraphale gently stroked his thumb over the demon's knuckles. "You were _so brave_, I'm so proud of you."

"Barely did anything," Crowley muttered, but Aziraphale was already sweeping them off to the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now before you all yell at me, remember that Armageddon still needs to not happen, and there are more chapters after this


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's Sunny, I'm back on my bullshit with not one but two pieces of art to go along with this chapter. On that note, I've finally got some happy art for this fic! I tried out a new method of shading and lineart, and I'm pretty happy with both, let me know what you reckon. In other news, I continue to be a slut for Crowley's hair

They appeared amongst the empty stacks of the bookshop without preamble. Crowley managed all of two steps before his legs gave out, knees hitting the floorboards with a thud. Aziraphale went down to meet him, legs akimbo as he gently drew the demon into his lap, cradling Crowley's head to his chest and making soothing noises at him. The demon felt himself trembling, aborted sobs trying to break free of his throat.

"Hush now, it's all right, you did _so _wonderfully, my brave darling, I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to face him again after what he did to you, you're far stronger than you give yourself credit for, it's over now…"

Crowley wanted to snarl that he didn't need Aziraphale pampering him with effusive praise like this, except he _did_, and he suspected the angel needed this almost as much as him. He curled up tighter against Aziraphale's solid chest, closing his eyes and allowing himself to feel safe, if only for a little while.

The tremors subsided, the pale moonlight filtering through the bookshop window making the place seem even emptier. Crowley didn't move from his spot, encircled by Aziraphale's arms, as he whispered, "You know he's going to figure out a way around the Accord."

Aziraphale sighed almost imperceptibly, but didn't stop stroking Crowley's hair. "I know."

"I mean, we've limited his options a bit, but he's going to get creative. Y'know. Eventually."

Another near-inaudible sigh. "I don't doubt that either," he said. "But I did believe it when he said he was content to wait for Armageddon to do the job for him, it's far less risky for him that way. If we _do_ manage to avert it, I suppose that'll be just another worry to add to the list. Not that our respective Head Offices will be particularly pleased with either of us if we succeed, regardless."

Crowley managed a small huff that could charitably be described as laughter. "We're not stopping anything at the rate we've been going. Warlock's got to be, what, almost five, now? He's practically been growing up like a regular human, that'll just lead to disaster if we let that carry on."

The angel shifted them both so that they were facing each other, taking Crowley's hands in his own. "Well, then, I'd say we're rather overdue for doing something about it, don't you?" He glanced out the window at the darkened sky outside. "Perhaps not _immediately_, it _is_ only just past midnight, but we should definitely get cracking once morning comes."

"Sounds like a plan," Crowley agreed, and they lapsed into a sudden silence that had the demon shifting uncomfortably. "So… is that it for today? I can go, if you want-"

"No, no, of course not, my dear boy, you can stay as long as you need," Aziraphale babbled. "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to go-"

"I want to stay," Crowley whispered, "I just-" He stopped and sighed.

"What do you want, Crowley?" Aziraphale prompted gently. "I'm happy to do whatever you need of me, just say the word."

The demon's gaze roamed over the bare shelves, the sheet-covered furniture still lurking in the gloom like ghosts. "I hate seeing this place so empty," he admitted. "Can we get all your books and things back from wherever you've put them?"

Aziraphale gave him a beatific smile and withdrew his hands so he could click his fingers. Instantly, the dust covers vanished, several Persian rugs unfurled themselves over the floorboards, and box upon box full of books and other knick-knacks arranged themselves haphazardly around the shop.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "You sure that's not going to ping on Heaven's radar as a frivolous miracle?"

"Well, it's hardly like Gabriel can interfere with my posting here on Earth anymore, surely that extends to my books," Aziraphale said, then his smile wobbled. "Oh dear. Maybe I should have been more specific in the wording of the Accord."

Crowley laid a soothing hand on his shoulder. "It's done now, no use worrying about it," he said pragmatically, and got up, clapping his hands together. "Now, I'm sure you use some bonkers filing system I've never heard of, so I'm not even going to try putting anything on the shelves, but I can unpack the boxes and give you a nudge whenever you get distracted and start reading whatever you're holding, how does that sound?"

\---------------

Life moved on. Crowley performed the temptations he was assigned, Aziraphale performed his blessings, and occasionally they'd swap out for one another as per the Arrangement. They shared the responsibility of raising Warlock, and lied through their teeth to their respective Head Offices about how fantastically they were doing at swaying the Antichrist to their side. Pretending that they weren't colluding in an attempt to avert the Apocalypse.

Pretending that Aziraphale's boss hadn't spent three years raping Crowley in a roundabout attempt at curbing some of Aziraphale's less than angelic tendencies, and had only stopped because there was a blood pact preventing him from doing it again.

This was all to say that it was a rather stressful time, and Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship didn't progress much further than the occasional bit of clandestine handholding until after they quietly retired their personas of Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. It had seemed too much of a risk to do anything while they were residing at the Dowling estate, and Crowley needed some time besides to not have those awful gardener's teeth pop into his head every time he so much as thought about kissing the angel.

It happened on an unremarkable summer evening, a few years before the Apocalypse. They'd met at the bookshop to catch each other up on the current happenings in Heaven and Hell, and Crowley just sort of hadn't left. Aziraphale was curled up in one of his many overstuffed armchairs, a book in his lap, a ray of fading sunlight catching in his white-blond curls and making them glow like a halo. Which Crowley supposed was more than appropriate, and he felt such a swell of affection that he nearly toppled out of the chair he'd haphazardly sprawled himself in.

"Aziraphale," he called out gently, barely keeping his voice from cracking. "I'm ready."

The angel started at the sound of his voice, likely so absorbed in his reading that he'd forgotten Crowley was even there. "Oh, of course, it is getting on a bit, isn't it? Did you have anywhere you wanted to go, or would you prefer I choose? There's this lovely little Italian place a few blocks away that I've been meaning to try, if you're amenable."

Crowley swallowed, trying to clear his suddenly dry throat. "I didn't mean for dinner, angel."

"Oh. Then what- _oh_!" Aziraphale hurriedly put down his book, then seemed entirely unsure of what he should be doing with his hands. "Well, the question still stands, I suppose. Would you prefer we stayed here, or would you feel more at ease in your own flat, or-"

"Here's more than fine," Crowley assured him, comforted somehow that the angel shared his nervousness.

"All right," Aziraphale agreed, then they stared at each other across the way for several awkward seconds. Belatedly, Crowley realised that it might have been prudent to have had this conversation when they were next to one another on the sofa in the back room, rather than halfway across the shop from one another. Then again, they usually only shared that couch when they were getting absolutely sozzled on wine, so maybe it was for the best.

"D'you think maybe we-"

"Perhaps it's best if one of us-"

They both stopped talking, giving each other bewildered looks. Eventually Crowley threw up his hands. "This is ridiculous. Angel, d'you have a bedroom?"

"I- yes, upstairs," Aziraphale replied, already getting up out of his armchair.

"Excellent," Crowley said, rising as well. "Lead the way."

Aziraphale nodded, reaching out his hand as he passed. Crowley laced their fingers together without a second thought, trailing after the angel. They paused briefly at the base of the stairs to toe off their shoes, then Aziraphale led him upwards, fingers still entwined. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door to his seldom-used bedroom.

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks at the state of Aziraphale's bed. "Aziraphale, what the Heaven is _that_?"

Aziraphale's brow creased. "What's wrong?"

"That's… a travesty against good taste, is what that is." He gestured at the bedspread. "Aziraphale, I can't, not on _that_."

The angel frowned at him. "Why not? I think it's lovely," he protested.

"It looks like it belongs to someone's grandmother," Crowley asserted, critically eyeing the aggressively floral design of the sheets and the ludicrous overabundance of throw pillows.

"Well, I am a great deal older than any living grandmother." Aziraphale huffed. "Besides, it's not like I even come up here very often." He paused, then admitted, "To be fair, I suppose I haven't changed the covers since I moved in."

"I believe it," Crowley told him. "Look, I'll put everything back the way you like after, just…" Without finishing the thought, Crowley snapped his fingers, and the embroidered daffodils and forget-me-nots vanished, replaced with buttery gold Egyptian cotton, the number of pillows dwindling to a reasonable amount. "See, didn't even make anything black."

Aziraphale eyed the new bedspread reprovingly, then his curiosity got the better of him and he reached out to stroke it. "Oh! That does actually feel quite nice."

"Of course it does," Crowley said, cracking a smile. "Only the best for you, angel."

Both of them knew that more than anything, it was about Crowley being able to exert some control over the situation. That this would only happen with his say-so, that he was doing this out of love and not out of any sense of obligation.

"In that case," Aziraphale told him boldly, "I suppose we better test it out together."

"Mnh," Crowley agreed, his ability to form words temporarily fleeing him. His feet almost didn't feel like they belonged to him as they carried him to the angel's side. Aziraphale reached up to gently cradle his face, and leant in for a kiss.

Crowley met him gladly, hands settling on Aziraphale's hips, and it was like their first kiss all over again - the angel's affection sweeping through him, twining through his own feelings for the angel and swirling in a glorious feedback loop of love that sent his head spinning. He only noticed that Aziraphale had clambered backwards onto the bed because the angel had tugged him along by the waist, pressing their bodies flush as he'd fallen back against the mattress. Even limited by their corporeal forms, it was nearly overwhelming, and Crowley was almost glad that it was too risky for them to try anything in their true form - he wasn't sure he would be able yet to handle the intense euphoria such an act would entail.

Seeming to read his mind, Aziraphale pulled back from the kiss, stroking Crowley's cheek with his thumb. "We'll only do as much as you're comfortable with," he promised. "I think it would be best to leave out any… power exchange dynamics, for now, until you're ready."

Crowley was struck again by the irony of Aziraphale having to go slow for his benefit, but he was too happy to be bothered by it, and nodded, fingers rising to gently tug at the bowtie around Aziraphale's neck. The angel's throat arched as Crowley pulled it free, hand rising to tangle in the demon's short auburn hair, deepening the kiss again. Crowley's palms almost felt like they were burning from the heat pouring off of Aziraphale's body as he slid his hands over the angel's chest, catching on the lapels of Aziraphale's waistcoat and promptly beginning to undo it.

"You wear things with too many buttons," he muttered breathlessly, moving onto the angel's shirt.

"You can miracle them away," Aziraphale told him, "Just- just be careful, this is my favourite waistcoat."

Crowley chuckled. "Considering I don't think I've seen you wear a different one in about a century, I would have thought it was your _only_ waistcoat," he teased, then clicked his fingers, Aziraphale's clothes vanishing from his body and instead folding themselves neatly on the reading chair in the corner.

He rose up onto his knees to tug his own shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side. His fingers trembled slightly in anticipation as he undid the snakehead belt buckle around his waist, then paused to take in the sight of Aziraphale laid out before him - soft curves outlined by the golden sheets, blushing delicately, platinum curls mussed and lips reddened from kissing. A lump formed in Crowley's throat. "I love you," he whispered, feeling ridiculous tears sting at the corners of his eyes. The angel smiled gently, reaching out for him, and Crowley was drawn in like the tide to the moon.

"I love you too, my dear," Aziraphale murmured against his lips, and Crowley let out a shuddering sigh into his mouth. He pulled back, but only so that he could nibble his way along the angel's jawline, peppering kisses down his neck, laving his tongue along his collarbone. He dispelled his own pants with a hasty miracle, not quite sure where he'd sent them (although if he'd watched the news later that day, he would have seen a short segment about members of The Queen's Guard at a loss as to how someone had managed to sneak onto the grounds of Buckingham Palace undetected and replace the Royal Standard with a pair of dark skinny jeans). Aziraphale shivered and hummed beneath him as Crowley made his way inexorably down, and the angel propped himself up on one elbow to watch as Crowley eased his legs further open, one arm curling underneath his thigh as the other pressed gently down on his opposite knee. Aziraphale reached out again, cupping the demon's chin and stroking his cheek as he leant towards the touch.

Crowley knew that his face had to be filled with the sappiest mix of love and adoration, and he found he didn't much care, because Aziraphale was the only one who got to see it. So long as it stayed that way. He had an image to maintain, after all.

"Oh, you are good, Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, carding his fingers through red hair.

Crowley smiled up at him. "No, I'm not," he said teasingly. "I'm a bad, bad demon. I'm a purveyor of all things sinful. Just look at me, on my knees between an angel's thighs."

Aziraphale gave him the sort of wicked grin that would put an actual incubus to shame. "I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to do something about it while you're down there?"

"I'm not kind," Crowley said, but there was no venom in it, and he pressed a kiss against the side of Aziraphale's knee. Then another, closer to the inside of his thigh. Then another, even higher, making his gradual way towards his prize. Aziraphale made the most beautiful noises under his ministrations, letting out a startled cry when Crowley's mouth wrapped around him. He put his serpentine tongue to good use, licking and sucking as Aziraphale arched under his touch.

"Oh- _oh_, Crowley," Aziraphale gasped, fists tightening against the golden sheets, head flung back. Crowley gazed up at him from under his lashes, unable to pull his eyes away, too enamoured by the ebb and flow of the angel's love and joy and passion washing through the room. In a word, Aziraphale looked divine, and Crowley swallowed him down with something close to reverence, the only temple the demon was willing to worship at.

He figured that Aziraphale would probably take umbrage with the comparison. Or - and the thought was as thrilling as it was terrifying for its implications - maybe he wouldn't. Fortunately, Crowley was a bit too preoccupied to ask.

The sensation rose and swelled, and all that he could see, all that he knew, was Aziraphale, spread out before him, completely and utterly in love with him. One of the angel's hands rose shakily to his hair, fingers drifting gently through the flame-red strands. It became the anchor point around which Crowley's focus pivoted, the slight scratch of Aziraphale's manicured nails against his scalp sending tendrils of warmth unfurling throughout his entire body. He could feel the angel trembling beneath him, thighs quivering against where they rested on the demon's shoulders, toes curling against the covers near Crowley's waist.

"Crowley, I-" Aziraphale started, then cut himself off with a choked moan, shock and utter bliss radiating from him in waves as he spilled into the demon's mouth. Crowley basked in it, savouring every drop, and Aziraphale was still panting when he pulled away with a soft pop. Crowley rested his head against the angel's outstretched thigh, smiling up at him.

"Take it you enjoyed that?" he asked, his tone mirthful.

Aziraphale just gaped at him a little and made a weak grabbing motion for him. Grinning, Crowley obliged, laying himself along the angel's side so that Aziraphale could shower him with kisses. "That was- utterly _breathtaking_, my dear, I can't even _begin_ to describe-"

Crowley laughed, happily drinking in the affection. "Glad you had fun."

"I rather think I'd enjoy returning the favour, if you'd like me to." Aziraphale's eyes flicked down momentarily and he gave the demon a little smirk. "You certainly seem interested, but I wouldn't want to presume."

"Mnh," Crowley replied, hoping that the sound had come across at least vaguely affirmative.

The angel smiled patiently. "Would you mind repeating that, dear? I do want to be sure that I won't be doing anything you don't want."

"I-" Crowley cleared his throat, mortified at how badly it had cracked. "-Yes. Please. I want you, angel."

Aziraphale lifted his hand to his mouth, licked his palm in a slow, wet drag, then reached down and wrapped it around Crowley's cock.

Crowley felt like his brain had just spontaneously liquified and dribbled down the back of his spine. "Guh," he said stupidly. "What- what. 'Ziraphale."

The angel stroked him torturously slowly. "How does that feel, my dear?" he murmured, their noses almost touching as he gazed fondly at the demon.

"Where- where'd you pick that up from?" Crowley moaned, burrowing his face against the angel's shoulder, somehow managing to scrape enough brain cells together to speak in full sentences. "Did Heaven get a lot more interesting after I left?"

"I do read, you know," Aziraphale told him loftily.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," was Crowley's attempt at a dry reply. Aziraphale's hand stroked along his shaft, twisting at the peak of the motion in a way that had Crowley flinging his head back against the pillows. "You can't tell me you learnt _that_ from a book," he said breathlessly.

"I… might have done some additional research," Aziraphale admitted. "On the web."

Crowley gave him the same delighted, intrigued smile he'd given him when the angel had first admitted to giving his flaming sword away in Eden. "Angel, did you watch _porn_ for me?"

"Don't be crude, it was _research_," Aziraphale insisted, going pink. He'd spent several nights, studiously _researching_, on the old computer he used to do his taxes, blinds furtively drawn. The computer had been cutting edge when he'd purchased it - back in the 70s. It didn't possess the requisite processing power to play video, nor did he own a wi-fi modem, but Aziraphale didn't know he needed either. He just expected it to work, and in the face of his overwhelming angelic faith, the computer had acquiesced.

"I'm just astounded you managed to avoid stumbling into anything too kinky, I figure you'd discorporate if you saw half the things humans get up to when it comes to sex," Crowley replied, spine arching as the angel repeated the twisting motion from before.

"Am I doing it right, then?" Aziraphale asked, a hint of anxiety creeping into his tone.

"Yes, _yes_, angel, you are," Crowley rasped.

Aziraphale smiled. "Well then," he said, pleased with himself, then shifted their positions, laying Crowley out beneath him and kneeling between his thighs. He shuffled back, hunkering down further, close enough for Crowley to feel his breath. The demon's eyes widened, fully golden.

"Aziraphale, you don't have to-" Crowley cut himself off with a moan as Aziraphale's thumb flicked across the head of his cock.

"Nonsense, I _want_ to," Aziraphale assured him.

"Only- only if you're sure," Crowley stammered, hips twitching, not knowing how he was even cognisant enough still to be forming words. "Doing it is a lot different to watching a video, if it gets too much you can stop, I don't mind, really."

"I _have_ been practicing," Aziraphale told him.

Crowley's brain short circuited. "On _what_? A banana? You know when humans use them in their sex ed classes, it's got nothing to do with their mouths, right?"

"Of course not, I'm sure you know there's plenty of places that sell things specifically to do with the carnal arts. I _have _lived Soho for quite a while."

"You-" Crowley spluttered. "You went to a _sex shop_?" Unbidden, his mind was filled with images of Aziraphale, wandering amongst the shelves of BDSM gear and novelty flavours of lube, calculating gaze sweeping over an assortment of silicone toys with all the intensity of choosing something from the dessert menu at one of his favourite restaurants. Aziraphale, taking his newly acquired purchases home, using them on himself, bringing himself to the point of ecstasy with Crowley's name on his lips-

Crowley was sure that Aziraphale was actively trying to murder him.

"Really, Crowley, I've been to a number of sex shops over the years," he said primly, giving Crowley's cock another absent squeeze, and Crowley was sure that if he'd had a human heart, he would have flatlined. "I'll admit I have a tendency to _indulge _a little, but I'm an angel, I could hardly go miracling up anything of that nature for myself, and I think Heaven might have had more than a few questions if they'd heard I'd been hopping into bed with any humans. We both know how well that went for the Watchers."

"Oh, _Satan_," Crowley whispered, feeling like he was going to pass out. Or die.

"There's no need to bring work into this," Aziraphale admonished.

"You started it," Crowley muttered, then all his higher reasoning fled the building as Aziraphale wrapped his lips around the head of Crowley's cock. "Oh, _fffuck_," he hissed, clutching at the sheets beneath him as Aziraphale slowly sank down.

It was immediately apparent to Crowley that he'd been doing sex wrong his entire existence.

Even when he'd slept with humans - which was infinitely more pleasurable than what Gabriel had done, or the things that had happened whenever he'd gotten on the wrong side of any particularly lustful demons - it had always been about releasing pent-up tension, or because his pining for Aziraphale had gotten especially pathetic and he'd needed an outlet. It had never been out of genuine desire for the person involved; they were just a warm, willing body to him, and he didn't doubt the feeling had been mutual. Whilst usually fun, there was no deeper meaning behind it.

Unlike now. He could _feel_ the love fuelling Aziraphale's every movement, his eager tongue, his gentle caresses of the demon's outer thighs. It swept over him like cleansing summer rain, surrounding him with the feeling that Aziraphale's love was strong enough to absolve him of all his sins. He found himself embracing the idea with a readiness that both elated and petrified him. He knew he didn't want to Rise, not really; the only allure it held for him was Aziraphale, and the ability to love his angel freely without fear of the consequences. In any case, the Heaven he yearned for didn't exist anymore - it had died during the Great Rebellion. He knew Heaven was a far colder place now than he remembered it, knew that he would never again feel at home there.

No, he didn't want Heaven. He just wanted Aziraphale.

The angel pulled off briefly, rubbing soft circles onto Crowley's thigh with a thumb. "How are you doing up there, Crowley?" he asked gently. "You've been very quiet. You'll tell me if you need me to stop, won't you?"

"Please don't stop," Crowley whispered brokenly in response. "Feels so good, I need you, I love you so much, please."

Aziraphale obliged him with a tender smile, hiking the demon's legs over his shoulders, and Crowley whimpered at the exquisite perfection of him, almost weeping at the fact that he was lucky enough to have Aziraphale love him as much as he did. He felt his own elation reverberate on the same frequency as Aziraphale's, mounting and amplifying as it crashed back through him, nearly exceeding his body's capacity for sensation. His hands twisted tighter in the sheets, worried he'd hurt Aziraphale if he grabbed onto the angel's hair instead, and felt himself be distantly vindicated as they tore in his grip. The warmth spread through his entire being, and he opened his mouth to cry out Aziraphale's name, only to find himself beyond the ability to form words, just the shape of his angel's name on his lips. Then, impossibly, the sensation bloomed to untold new heights, and for a brief moment, Crowley saw stars, all the constellations he'd scattered across the sky millennia ago stretching out as far as his eyes could see.

When his vision returned, he spent the next minute or so raggedly gasping for air, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from breathing even if he tried. He reached out blindly, quickly catching Aziraphale's fingers with his own, the angel shifting his way up the bed so he could draw Crowley's trembling form into his arms.

"I-I didn't- I didn't know it could _feel_ like that, I- oh, _God_, Aziraphale, I love you so much-"

Aziraphale ran soothing fingers through Crowley's hair, clicking with his other hand to miracle the sheets to wrap around them, surrounding them both with golden warmth. "I do hope that was everything you wanted it to be," he murmured quietly.

That startled a laugh out of Crowley. "I would've thought I made _that_ obvious."

"I… I wasn't too soft?"

"You were perfect," Crowley assured him, pressing a soft kiss to the angel's bare chest. "I _want_ soft. I want _you_."

Aziraphale's responding smile was brighter than the sun, and Crowley couldn't help his own grin, nestling his head against the crook of Aziraphale's neck, eyes drifting shut as he miracled away the sweat and the stains with a tired murmur. Aziraphale felt his eyelids grow similarly heavy, leaning back against the pillows, cradling the drowsy demon in his arms.

For the first time in his life, the angel closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the promised comfort! At first I was going to do it as just solid soft sweetness, but quickly realised it would be a bit more on brand for these two to have a bit of silliness thrown in as well. Let me know if you agree :P
> 
> Also, just a heads up, so it doesn't come as a shock: next chapter will be more of an epilogue (though, to be fair, a lot more will happen than in your average epilogue), and subsequently will be shorter than the rest of the chapters have been. I go back to uni next week as well (and I've got an assignment that I really should be doing instead of writing this, but oh well, I've got until Friday), so I probably won't have that up until next weekend. Until then, love you all *kissy noises*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up as less of an epilogue and more of a short chapter, but I'm sure no one's going to complain about that ;)
> 
> Spoiler/content warning for brief mention of suicide.

Being able to admit his love for Aziraphale didn't mean that all his problems were fixed. He knew it didn't work like that, not to mention the looming threat of the Apocalypse, only a few years away, had a tendency to paint everything with a bit of a darker brush.

All this was to say that things were not all smooth sailing. Sometimes, and increasingly in the days leading up to the end of the world, loving Aziraphale would hurt him almost more than he could bear.

In the bandstand, when Aziraphale had told him it was over, it had caused Crowley such physical pain that he hadn't even been able to speak properly for several moments after. Even knowing that Aziraphale had only made that choice to protect Crowley, convinced that appealing to God directly was the only way to stop the Apocalypse and thus keep him safe, hadn't done much to lessen the blow.

In Tadfield, when Aziraphale had threatened to never speak to him again if he didn't find a way to avert the Apocalypse - an empty threat, and they both knew it, especially since it was entirely likely that Satan would just obliterate them both anyway - and Crowley had stopped time itself at the mere possibility. Then, when Gabriel and Beelzebub had shown up, and Crowley had had to pretend that so much as seeing the Archangel again didn't almost send him into a downward spiral of terror. In part, it had been to save face in front of the assembled humans and supernatural entities, but mostly because he didn't want to give Aziraphale a reason to pity him instead of being proud of him.

In the flat in Mayfair, when he and Aziraphale had shared what they both desperately hoped wouldn't be their last kiss, transferring their souls into each other's corporations, and the look of fear on the angel's borrowed face hadn't seemed strange, because it was mirrored exactly on his own.

In Heaven, when he'd worn the angel's body under the guidance of a centuries-old prophecy, and he'd been surrounded by the cold, indifferent gazes of the people who were supposed to love Aziraphale most. Gabriel had grinned smarmily as he'd told what he thought was Aziraphale to step into the hellfire, clearly thinking he'd weaselled his way out of abiding by the spirit of the Accord through twisting the letter of it instead, given that he hadn't technically laid a hand on either of them himself. Horrifyingly enough, Crowley was fairly sure it would have worked - the trial wasn't designed to separate Aziraphale from Crowley, but to punish him for his perceived crimes against Heaven, and would have happened with or without Gabriel's say-so. There hadn't been anything in the Accord about Gabriel_ preventing _harm from coming to them, just that he couldn't cause it himself. By ordering Crowley-as-Aziraphale to step into the hellfire, he likely would have again circumvented the Accord, as technically Aziraphale would have been causing _himself_ harm, rather than having it inflicted on him by Gabriel. Perhaps if Crowley had refused, forced the Archangels to toss him in, it would have been different, but the point was moot because the hellfire wouldn't have harmed him anyway.

So Crowley had stepped into the flames while wearing Aziraphale's body, breathed hellfire at the gathered Archangels, and _smiled_.

He'd thought that they'd finally have some peace, some time to recover. That it was the last time he'd ever have to set foot in Heaven.

He was wrong.

The night started off unremarkably enough. They hadn't really done all too much that day, aside from tossing around some half-baked ideas about moving to a cottage in the countryside, and generally trying to inconvenience any customers that wandered into the bookshop into leaving. Aziraphale had just flipped the 'closed' sign on the bookshop door, pouring himself and Crowley a glass of wine each, when the demon caught sight of a faint blue glow emanating from under the rug that covered Aziraphale's communing circle.

"Hey, angel? 'S it supposed to be doing that?" He nodded towards the rug. Aziraphale froze mid-sip and frowned.

"No, it's most definitely not," he replied, setting down his glass as a worried crease formed on his brow. "I… must be getting a call, they've never done that before. I've always called them."

They exchanged nervous glances.

"…You don't think they've figured out the ruse, do you?"

"Surely not," Aziraphale answered, a little uncertainly. "I doubt they'd bother with a courtesy call before getting to the smiting, if that were the case." The glow intensified and he bit his lip. "I suppose it _would_ be rude, not to pick up," he murmured, flicking back the rug before Crowley could protest.

The spectral head of the Metatron coalesced above the circle, spilling light throughout the bookshop. Crowley surreptitiously picked up his sunglasses and put them back on.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, offering the Voice of God a feeble smile. "Um. Hello. How… how can I help you?"

"Hello, Aziraphale," the Metatron boomed, pausing a moment before sliding his gaze over to Crowley. "…The demon Crowley," he added politely, obviously struggling to keep any contempt out of his voice.

"'Sup," Crowley managed, instantly glad for the sunglasses.

"Was there something you needed?" Aziraphale prompted.

The Metatron grimaced. "You are being Summoned."

Aziraphale swallowed dryly. "Is- is this about Armageddon? Because I- well, I already had my trial for that, you see, it wasn't _my_ fault the punishment didn't stick-"

"This is not about your punishment, Aziraphale, or the demon's, for that matter," the Metatron assured. "You have been… exonerated, as far as any of that goes."

"Oh," Aziraphale murmured faintly. "Well… good?"

"This Summons is directly from Her, Aziraphale."

The angel blanched a little. "Oh," he said again. "Well, I suppose I must attend, mustn't I?"

"Not just you," the Metatron corrected, glowing gaze shifting to Crowley again. "The Summons is for both of you."

Crowley made a choking noise. "What're you talking about? I've got no business being in Heaven."

The Metatron's lip curled. "Normally, I would agree. However, as I have said, this is a direct Summons from Her. I can assure you no harm will come to either of you, and you will be returned safely to this spot once the proceedings are complete. It won't take long." The angel and demon both just stared at him, and the Metatron huffed impatiently. "This is a Summons. It is not a _request_. I will expect you shortly." His face faded from view, leaving the circle glowing gently on the floor.

They both stared at it.

Crowley gulped. "Don't suppose you think She'd find us if we just ignored Her and ran off to Alpha Centauri?" he asked weakly.

"She's called the Almighty for a reason, Crowley," Aziraphale reminded him, voice equally faint. "At any rate, I'm still an angel. I can't disobey a direct Summoning from Her, I really can't."

Crowley groaned, sounding defeated. "And I can't let you go up there on your own."

"Well. I suppose that settles it," Aziraphale said, trying to inject some cheeriness into his tone. "The Metatron did promise we wouldn't come to any harm."

"No offence, angel, but I wouldn't trust anyone from Heaven as far as I could throw 'em," he replied bleakly.

"None- well, all right, a little offence taken. But perhaps if it's important enough for Her to Summon us directly, it would be in our best interests to just go, instead of being dragged up there kicking and screaming?"

"…Bless it, you've got a bit of a point there," Crowley admitted, chewing his bottom lip. Aziraphale offered him an outstretched hand and a nervous smile.

"Once more, unto the breach, then?"

"Urgh. I guess."

Crowley took his hand, squeezing it tight as they stepped into the portal.

\------------

They stepped into Heaven. Not one of the corporate-looking floors, but an endless plane of white. It was so bright that Crowley had to squint despite his sunglasses. Even the angel's eyes were narrowed slightly against the glare.

"What is this? And what are _they_ doing here?"

They whirled at the sound of Gabriel's annoyed voice, Crowley unable to keep himself from flinching, but they very quickly stopped paying attention to the Archangel in favour of the figure occupying the space behind him.

Her true form was an amalgamation of blazing divinity and non-Euclidean geometry, so far beyond the confines of logical perception that any human who got within spitting distance would have been instantly vaporised. For the two angels and the demon, it just caused a mild buzzing under their skin and kept them from looking directly at Her. She ignored Gabriel's questions in favour of greeting the two Earthly operatives.

** Hello, Crowley. It's been some time. **

Crowley's mouth and brain both refused to function for a few moments, still trying to process the fact that he was back in Heaven in the first place - at least while wearing his own skin - let alone having a direct conversation with God. "Y-yeah, hi," he managed after a fashion, resisting the hysterical urge to call Her 'Big G' or something equally inane. "'S been a minute."

** It's been substantially longer than that. **

"…Right," Crowley muttered, somehow not surprised that hyperbole went over God's head (or, at least, whatever part of Her metaphysical presence was the equivalent of Her head). She wasn't exactly known for subtlety.

** You have suffered so much, yet remain so strong. ** The words were as gentle as they could be when being directly blasted into his brain.** I commend you for your fortitude in the face of adversity.**

"Uh…" Crowley replied lamely. "Thanks."

She almost sounded amused, comforting warmth radiating from Her in waves. **You are welcome.**

Her not-quite-gaze moved on to the smaller of the two angels in the room.

** Aziraphale. You have acted with true compassion. ** The liminal space they were occupying filled with the warm glow of Her pride. **You are so full of love, my sweet child. Truly, a shining example of the benevolence becoming of an angel.**

"Thank you, Lord," Aziraphale whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Her attention shifted again, voice taking on a disapproving tone.

** Gabriel. **

The Archangel gulped. "Yes, Lord?"

** You are not. **

The colour drained from Gabriel's face.

** It would appear that I have been remiss in my duties the past few decades. **

Crowley stifled a snort.

Her tone softened. **I'm well aware of the pain my inaction has caused you, Crowley. I am sorry, and I don't expect you to forgive me. I know I'm often far crueller than I am kind.**

"You'd almost think you were human, the way you carry on," Crowley agreed humourlessly. The two angels spared him a horrified look for speaking so candidly to their Creator, but Her voice remained gentle and conciliatory. 

** I _did_ create humanity in my image, did I not? They are not perfect. That was not a mistake. **

"So, is that what this is, then? You owning up to one of your mistakes?"

** In a manner of speaking, yes. ** Her not-quite gaze moved to Gabriel, but her words were still directed at Aziraphale and Crowley. **This is to be Gabriel's trial,** She said. **You are here as witnesses.**

"But-" Gabriel spluttered, finding his voice. "You can't rely on them! They messed up your Plan!"

** Where did you hear that? ** She asked, glib as anything. **I did create them both, after all. Doesn't it stand to reason I did so for a specific purpose? **A hint of steeliness crept into Her tone. **_You_ were the one that decided to take it upon yourself to punish the demon Crowley merely for existing in the vicinity of an angel. I don't suppose you have anything to say for yourself?**

"This is- he's a _demon_!" Gabriel protested. "Whatever he might've been once, he's a servant of Lucifer now, he _deserved _it!" She said nothing, and Gabriel's voice grew more desperate. "I _saw_ the way he reacted to what I was doing, there was part of him that _wanted_ to be punished!"

Her response, when it finally came, was cold. **I notice that not one word you've said comes in the form of an apology, Gabriel. I rather think that speaks for itself. **Her focus shifted. **Don't you agree, Crowley? **When She was met with fraught silence, Her tone became more gentle, soft waves of reassurance drifting over the demon. **You don't need to speak if you don't want to,** She told him. **But I think it would do you good.**

Crowley's nails had bitten so hard into his palms that he'd started bleeding, ichor dissipating with a slight sizzle the moment it dripped from his clenched fists and hit Heaven's floor. He stared hard at Gabriel, trembling. "I didn't want _any_ of what you did," he whispered. "I only _let_ you do it in the first place because I thought you'd hurt Aziraphale if I didn't." He felt the hot sting of unshed tears against the corners of his eyes, words flowing out of him as an alternative to letting them fall. "_The way I reacted_? That was a _defence mechanism_, you arsehole. What you did wasn't punishment, it was _cruelty_. You used your power to abuse me because you thought I wasn't anyone important enough to matter. Because you thought you could get away with it. It wasn't ordained by God, or Heaven, just you. You only did it for yourself." He found himself breathing hard, having to blink fiercely to keep the tears from falling. Aziraphale's fingers interlaced with his own, sending out a burst of golden energy to heal the places where his nails had broken his skin.

"It's all right, my love," Aziraphale murmured gently, giving his hand a soft squeeze.

"No, it isn't," Crowley replied, eyes still locked with Gabriel's. He straightened his spine, mouth set in a determined line. "But I will be."

** Thank you, Crowley. I've heard enough to make my judgement.  **

"Doesn't the Principality get a chance to speak, too?" Gabriel asked bitterly. 

Her tone was slightly disappointed, but not surprised. **That was for Crowley's benefit, not mine. I do not need to hear Aziraphale speak to know what he has to say. **

"...Of course, Lord." Gabriel set his jaw, straightening his spine. "I'm ready for my sentencing."

** You have not made this easy, Gabriel. But I feel I have found an apt resolution. Are you not fond of the phrase, 'the punishment should fit the crime'? **

A pillar of hellfire erupted from the floor.

The Archangel stared, stoicism evaporating. "You- you can't be serious." He'd clearly been expecting to Fall.

** Are you questioning my judgement, Gabriel? **

Gabriel went almost the same shade of grey as his suit, trembling slightly, something nearly unfathomable lurking in the flames reflected in the purple of his eyes. Crowley instantly recognised it.

It was the same fear Crowley had felt at the prospect of Aziraphale being damned. He'd thought he would've relished the sight of the Archangel getting a taste of his own medicine, but Crowley just felt like his mouth was full of ashes.

He balled his fists at his side. "This isn't right." 

** All must be judged in the end.  ** She lifted a metaphysical eyebrow at him. **Are_ you_ questioning my judgement, Crowley?**

"Just seems a little extreme," the demon muttered uncomfortably. "Don't I get a say in it? Being the maligned party and all?"

** Forgiveness is well and good, ** She intoned, Her voice both a reprimand and a reassurance, **but only when the one being forgiven is truly repentant. Don't forget, Crowley, he was complicit in plans to do exactly this to Aziraphale. **Her approximation of a mouth set into a grim smile. **I would have thought the opportunity for a bit of reciprocal punishment would have pleased you.**

The demon swallowed painfully. "I haven't forgotten, believe me. I just… don't think two wrongs make a right."

She smiled, bright and genuine, filling the room with even more light, and Crowley had the creeping sense he'd just passed a test he didn't know he'd been taking. **What would you suggest, then? How else would you ensure that he cannot abuse his powers again, as he has done with you?**

Crowley picked out his words carefully, realising the test wasn't quite over yet. "Maybe the power's the problem," he said slowly. "He's never not had it, he doesn't know what it's like to be without it. Maybe spending some time being… normal, that would give him some perspective."

** You know, I rather think you're right, ** She murmured. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the liminal space and Her voice boomed a little louder. **Archangel Gabriel, receive this, my judgement.** Her presence swelled, the endless plane they were occupying seeming to shrink. **You are to be stripped of your angelic gifts, and will be sent to Earth to live out your corporation's natural lifespan as a mortal. You will be judged for your deeds on Earth upon death as they are, and be allowed back into the Heavenly fold, or consigned to punishment in Hell, accordingly.**

"What?" Gabriel rasped, disbelieving. "You'd station me on Earth as a _human_? Have _them_ watch over me?" He gestured roughly at Crowley and Aziraphale. "They'll just set me up to fail! It's a foregone conclusion, this'll just delay the inevitable!"

Her tone was flat. **Your judgement will not come from them, it will come from me. I will not inflict your enduring presence on them any more than you already have yourself.**

His gaze flicked between Her and the column of hellfire still blazing off to the side.

** This offer is more mercy than you have shown, Gabriel. I suggest you take this gift. **

Gabriel lifted his chin defiantly at God, then glared over at Crowley and Aziraphale. 

"Keep your precious Earth," he sneered, then stepped into the flames and burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Alternative chapter title: God Finally Does Her Fucking Job)
> 
> ...And we are done! Let me know what you think!


End file.
